


A Substitute For Pudding

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Body Hair, Class Issues, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Crying During Sex, Cultural Misunderstandings, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Facial Hair, Fantasy, Fellatio, First Time, Fisting, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Group Sex, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Humour, Intracrural sex, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Master/Servant, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgy, Painplay, Polyamory, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Sibling Incest, Size Difference, Spanking, Tit Torture, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Verbal Humiliation, are dwarves a kink yet, consensual sexual objectification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 126,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the 'Hobbit Sex Lottery' story which arose from my wondering aloud on Tumblr, shortly after seeing <i>The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey</i> for the first time, whether anyone had written dwarves-on-hobbit orgy fic yet. I was astonished at the eager response to something I'd chiefly meant as a joke, so I wrote... this. It has grown far, far beyond the original concept and has been very kindly received. Lots of affectionate filthy sex, occasional forays into character exploration, and more Thilbo and Bilbofur than you can shake an Oakenshield or a mattock at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pudding

HOBBIT SEX LOTTERY

-or-

AN UNEXPECTED BONER

-or-

A SUBSTITUTE FOR PUDDING

The following text is contentious to say the least. It purports to describe events taking place between Thorin and Company’s rescue by eagles and their arrival at Beorn’s house. Although the manuscript pages were found inserted between those of the Red Book, and are in a hand consistent with that of known Baggins papers, many authorities believe they are a later forgery planted by persons unknown. Even settling whether or not they were Baggins’ own work would not determine whether they are factually true; they may simply indicate that he harboured certain fantasies regarding his comrades on the famous quest. Regardless, they form one of the more unusual and distinctive mathoms in our collection. We can be certain that he did not intend them to be included in the published version of his narrative. This is understandable.

 

 

Bilbo turned over and tried again, fruitlessly, to find a comfortable spot on the ground. He’d got rid of all the rocks and lumps under him, and he’d even dug little holes to accommodate his hip and shoulder when he lay on his side, but nothing altered the fact that he was lying on bare earth with only his coat wrapped around him and his arm for a pillow, and it was a very far cry from his warm soft bed in Bag End. At home, about this time, he would be snuggling into goosedown pillows following a tasty supper and a hot bath, just settling down to a nice, relaxing wank that would send him off to sleep like a baby.

Instead of which, he hadn’t had a bath, or more than an outdoors stand-up wash with cold water, for far longer than he cared to think about. At least the smells of everyone’s bodies were more or less blanketed over by the smells of campfire smoke and cooking. He would grudgingly admit that supper tonight had been good, because Bombur was an excellent cook in his improvised way, but not a patch, he thought wistfully, on what he could have whipped up in his own snug, well equipped kitchen. And there had been no pudding. Spit-roasted duck and rabbit shot by Fili and wild greens gathered by himself, yes, and all very well prepared, but still, _no pudding._ How did people _live_ like this? It certainly gave you an appreciation for the hardships of the dwarvish diaspora.

So reasoning, he sighed and rolled over again. All was quiet, in that special not-quiet way you got when a large group of dwarves were sleeping. He had never known such people for snoring, teeth-grinding, sleep-mumbling and blanket-lifting farting. While apparently sleeping peacefully, they would be grunting, snorting, smacking their lips and generally making it impossible for a confirmed bachelor to doze off. He’d have taken his little excuse for a bed quite a long way off, if he weren’t so afraid to sleep alone and far from the fire. They had set up camp below a rocky bank at the base of the great crag the eagles had dropped them on, so the bank was at their backs and the watchers only had to look out one way.

The fire was burning low, arranged to last through the night, but still gave off some rosy flickers that he found reassuring. Kili and Fili were sitting up beside it on watch, and he didn’t envy them one bit. His own turns on watch had been punctuated by nodding off, falling over sideways, being nudged awake by whoever was his co-watcher, and frowned at by Thorin for the whole performance. Even if Thorin clearly thought better of him since the adventure of the burning pine-trees, he was still far from thinking of him as a fully paid-up _adventurer._ He was sleeping close behind Bilbo now, though at least he didn’t snore. His only concession to his injuries from the recent fight had been to go to sleep rather early.

More smacking noises. And heavy breathing. Irritated, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked around for the source of the noise.

_Oh. Um. Fili and Kili. By the fire. Not actually doing a particularly attentive job of keeping watch. Kissing. And them brothers!_

Bilbo scooted back down and pulled his blanket up over his nose, his face reddening and eyes widening. Good manners really called for him to pull the blanket up over them too, and probably to roll over and turn his back entirely, and stuff his fingers in his ears. Instead he lay there staring at two handsome young dwarves nuzzling, licking and nipping at one another’s wet, rosy lips, thinking absently ‘oh dear.’ There was a kind of tender, playful roughness in the way they handled each other, as if all this had started off in boyish wrestling, the kind he remembered with his own Took cousins. Kili’s hands stole into Fili’s thick golden hair, and Fili’s hand snaked down between Kili’s legs, gripping and rubbing through his trousers as comfortably as if he’d been touching himself.

‘Can’t wait till we go to bed, can you?’ Kili murmured.

‘Since when do we wait? Mm? Come on, everyone’s asleep. You know it’s not good for you to bottle it up.’ Fili’s voice was low and husky and coaxing, with a faint undertone of laughter.

‘Psh... all right, you talked me into it.’ The laughter was there too, a soft chuckle down in Kili’s throat.

‘Always have, always will.’

_I should be scandalised,_ Bilbo told himself firmly. _I_ am _scandalised! Thoroughly! I should_ not _be lying here watching them... kissing... and getting each other’s cocks out... and rubbing them... long and thick and rosy red... I wish he’d move his knee so I could see better. There!_

He could feel his heartbeat down in his own cock, and it seemed, more and more, that he had no choice but to give it a little rub himself. Fili was probably right about bottling it up; he’d been holding back what with the unaccustomed company, and it wouldn’t do any harm, would it? No, it wouldn’t, just a little harmless self-indulgence, a substitute for pudding, really. It was the least he deserved.

He was breathlessly rubbing and tugging, and enjoying himself quite as much as Fili and Kili seemed to be doing, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and warm breath on the back of his neck.

‘What _are_ you doing under there?’ Thorin’s voice rumbled in his ear.

‘Nothing!’ Bilbo squeaked, snatching his hands up to chin height as if they had been burned.

‘I disagree. I think you’re enjoying watching my nephews. Aren’t you?’

‘I - I - no! I mean no offence to your family! Goodness, no!’ _Why on earth is he putting his arm around me?_ He felt Thorin’s arm tighten around his waist, pulling him back against his strong, stocky body, half familiar from that very long hug on top of the crag. The other arm pushed under him and wrapped around him too, and he felt the prickle of Thorin’s moustache on the back of his neck, along with a long, deep, contented sigh.

‘Mmmmm... none taken. I’m afraid they’ve always been like that. Incorrigible. Still... it’s not a bad show, is it?’

‘Er... no.’ 

‘You needn’t stop on my account.’ Very definitely, and to Bilbo’s utter astonishment, a wet kiss on his nape. ‘Didn’t we say we were at your service?’

‘You, um, _you_ didn’t.’ His heart was drumming faster than ever. 

‘I suppose not.’ Slowly and deliberately, he ground his hips against Bilbo’s bottom, letting him feel the firm, prodding bulge of his erection. ‘Thorin at your service.’

‘Bilbo Baggins at yours,’ he said faintly, remembering that much of his manners.

‘Want me to stop and let you alone?’

‘Nnnno-ooo...’ (The Baggins part of him snapped ‘Yes! Immediately! This is disgraceful!’ while the Tookish part drowned it out with cries of ‘Not for the world!’)

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘You _and_ your family have a very bad habit of taking me entirely by surprise! How do you expect me to sound?’

‘That’s better.’ Another wet, prickling kiss, and little shocks ran up and down his spine. ‘It’s more fun when you show some backbone.’

‘Oh, bother you! And your smutty nephews.’

‘I’ll tell them you said that.’ And before Bilbo could attempt to stop him, Thorin had sat up and softly called out ‘Fili! Kili! You’re to stop that right now. You’re offending Mister Baggins.’

They looked up, faces flushed and eyes wide, and then broke into smiles. ‘We seem to have a way of doing that!’ Fili said.

‘It’s all done with the best intentions,’ Kili added. Neither of them had taken his hand off the other’s cock, and they seemed perfectly unconcerned. ‘This could make another verse for “That’s What Bilbo Baggins Hates”.’

‘Yes, what rhymes with cocks?’

‘Please, for mercy’s sake be quiet,’ Bilbo begged, mortified, scrambling up onto his hands and knees. ‘And no singing!’

‘We’re quiet enough,’ said Thorin. ‘This lot could sleep through anything. Come over here, you two.’

Being on his knees meant that as they ambled over, the flies of their trousers gaping open, the two stiff, ruddy cocks were just at Bilbo’s eye level. He knew he was staring, but the way they bobbed was almost hypnotic. Then there was the smell, hot and dark and musky, stronger as they got close to him.

‘Are they as bad as all that?’ Kili asked, grinning. ‘I think mine’s rather friendly-looking.’ It was the fatter of the two, and oily precome glistened on its head.

‘Look here,’ Fili said kindly, crouching down on one knee, ‘I know we tease, but we don’t really want to upset you. Are you all right?’

‘Of course I am,’ Bilbo protested, trying to recover some dignity while kneeling with his own cock poking out of his trousers. (He was acutely aware that it was rather smaller than theirs.)

‘You look a bit flustered, that’s all. Bit out of your depth.’ Another kindly smile and a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say that was all they could expect from him.

‘I am not!’

‘Oh? So you do this kind of thing all the time?’

‘And you so _respectable,’_ said Kili, reaching down and ruffling Bilbo’s curly hair.

‘Leave him alone,’ Thorin said, wrapping his arms around Bilbo from behind and pulling him back into his lap. ‘No handling the burglar without my permission.’

‘What about _my_ permission?’ Bilbo objected. ‘I’m an independent contractor.’

‘Good point,’ said Fili, leaning in. ‘Then may we have _your_ permission? Please?’

‘... All right,’ Bilbo said, with the air of one conferring a great favour.

‘Why, thank you!’ And Fili pressed a kiss into Bilbo’s mouth without hesitation, quickly followed by another from Kili, who had knelt down beside him. While he was still reeling, his head a muddle of ‘lipswethottongue _beard,’_ a brisk negotiation took place.

‘Top or tail?’

‘Flip you for it,’ Kili said, producing a small silver coin.

‘Then I call tails.’

The coin spun in the air and was swiftly caught. ‘Tails it is! Lucky.’

‘What’s...’ Bilbo began, before they were both on him, Kili eagerly kissing his neck and popping the buttons of his shirt, pushing his braces down from his shoulders, while Fili pulled down his trousers and drawers, kissing down over his belly until he reached his cock and sucked it in. ‘Oh... oh!’ Both warm, wet mouths, both quick, pulsing tongues were working him, as well as two strong pairs of calloused hands on his chest, hips, belly, thighs. Gasping, he slid down against Thorin’s chest, arching his back and spreading his legs without a thought. _Oh,_ it was good, and they were making avid little grunting sounds as they licked and sucked, as if he were delicious and they were gobbling him up. It was all _very_ flattering to a plump little hobbit.

He had slid down until his head was in Thorin’s lap, and as he squirmed in delight he could feel the leatherbound bulge of his erection rubbing against his cheek. He looked up at him, a trifle worried that Thorin would be glowering at him again. Instead, he was watching Bilbo intently, his mouth a little open. His brows were knit together, but not angrily, and his eyes were very dark and deep.

With one hand on Bilbo’s head, he unlaced his breeches with the other, freeing his cock. It reared up, listing to one side a little, filling Bilbo’s view, crimson and rooted in thick black hair, the smell of it so sharp and strong that it stung his nose. He tilted his head, opened his mouth, and Thorin filled it, pressing his head down with that one heavy hand. A muffled moan slipped out of him as Thorin shifted his position, and he wrapped his hand around the base of the shaft as much to feel it as to have a little control of how deeply the head went into his mouth. It was both familiar and unfamiliar, since he and his Took cousins had done this often enough in their misspent and curious youth, but Thorin had a very distinct taste of his own, and filled the mouth a great deal more. 

‘That’s what Bilbo Baggins _likes,’_ he dimly heard Kili say, and then he _felt_ Fili sputter with laughter, which almost finished him off. They kept discussing him as he sucked, his mouth watering.

‘Isn’t he sweet?’

‘He’s so soft. Smooth, I mean. No hair to speak of. Not like your woolly chest.’

‘Or your furry bum. No, look.’ He was manhandled onto his hip and his trousers jerked right down to his knees. ‘He’s got a bit of fuzz on his lower slopes.’

‘Bags first fuck.’

‘That’s not fair, I called tails.’ He felt thick thumbs slide between his buttocks and press them apart. ‘Aw, look at the little pink hobbit-hole.’ Warm, wet spit landed there, and he shivered. ‘I’m just going to tickle you up a bit, Bilbo.’

‘Mmph?’ Bilbo couldn’t see what was going on, only feel Fili’s fingertip stroking up and down his cleft, making it tingle with heat and his ring twitch frantically. He whimpered faintly, and Thorin made a sort of approving rumble, brushing his hair back from his forehead. 

‘You should find something for grease,’ Thorin grunted, ‘or there’ll be tears before bedtime.’

‘Damn,’ Fili said, still stroking. ‘I’ve nothing left. Kili, you’ve still got some of that cream you pinched in Rivendell, haven’t you?’

‘No,’ Kili said ruefully, ‘the jar got lost somewhere along the way. Any ideas, Bilbo? You might unplug his mouth,’ he added conversationally to Thorin, ‘and let him talk.’

‘Um - I don’t know,’ Bilbo said, disconcerted both by how quickly things were moving and by how solicitously Thorin wiped some wet from his chin after pulling out. His lips felt swollen and tingly, and he could still feel the shape of the bulbous cockhead against the roof of his mouth. At home there would be nothing easier than finding some oil in the pantry or some butter from the cool-room, though of course, if he’d stayed at home he would definitely not be surrounded by the cream of the House of Durin intent on ravishing him. ‘Oh, that’s right! The duck fat.’ He propped himself up on his elbows enough to point to a small covered jar on a flat stone near the fire. Bombur, at any rate, had managed to keep some of his bits and pieces safe in his pockets. ‘That would work, although it seems like a terrible waste... it’s so good for frying potatoes...’

They laughed at him, though not unkindly, and Fili shuffled over on his knees to get the jar.

‘Well, you can have fried potatoes and a very sore bum, or we can do things our way,’ Kili said. ‘What do you say? Yes please or no thank you? We’re polite about it all.’

‘Yes. _Please.’_ Bilbo glanced up at Thorin. ‘If that’s all right with you. Er - don’t you want to do it?’

‘I think that was an invitation,’ Kili said gleefully. ‘After you, uncle.’

‘Very much,’ Thorin answered, ‘but I’m too sore at the moment to attempt anything so vigorous. I’m happy to let Fili and Kili break you in.’

‘I don’t want breaking in. I said I’ve done this before.’ Indignantly, he kicked off his trousers and hoisted his legs up, his hands behind his knees. ‘There! Just pop it in.’

Further laughter, and Fili leaned in to kiss him again, thrusting his tongue sloppily into his mouth. Bilbo sucked on it urgently, with a sharp little grunt as a well-greased finger pushed into his bottom. He had to drop back and pant, his eyes flickering closed, as Fili jammed it deeper, swivelling around.

‘Good?’ Fili whispered.

‘More...’

‘Is he tight?’ Kili asked, over Fili’s shoulder. Both his hands were under Fili’s belly, greasing his cock in smooth strokes.

‘I wouldn’t say tight... nice and snug... ooh, that’s enough. Let me just...’ He gripped Bilbo’s hips and pulled him closer. Bilbo felt the slippery head of his cock nudging between his buttocks, sliding into the tenderest spot, stretching and spreading, and his whole body arched in response.

‘Look at his _face,’_ Kili murmured.

‘Shh, you’ll make him shy,’ Thorin said. ‘I want him just like this.’ Bilbo felt Thorin’s knees push in under his shoulders, lifting and supporting him again, and strong hands took hold of his ankles. He felt sandwiched between Thorin and Fili, who chose this moment to kiss him again, grinding his hips against Bilbo’s upturned bum, making him whimper desperately at the sheer bursting fullness. There was a very emphatic difference between an adolescent hobbit cock and an adult dwarf one, and he could feel the fierce pressure of it in his belly, the lovely insistent friction of Fili’s stroke. 

Since Thorin was holding Bilbo’s legs, he could spare his hands, and reached his right down to rub himself. Fili broke the kiss and pushed himself up on both arms, and before Bilbo could take a full breath Thorin’s cock was nudging at his cheek, and he turned his head to suck. The position was awkward, and Thorin’s cock kept slipping out, smearing his face, so that he needed his left hand to keep it steady. Even with that, he was deliriously happy; the only way it could have been better was if they were all properly naked. And in a proper bed. And if there were some way to fit Kili in. 

‘When’s it my turn?’ Kili asked, as if he’d known.

‘Shh,’ Fili grunted. ‘I’m loosening him up for your fat prick. Oh... is that good, Bilbo?’

‘Mmph!’

‘Give us one mmph for yes, two mmphs for no,’ Kili suggested.

‘Mmmmmmmmmmph!’

‘He’s quite happy,’ Thorin reported. ‘You should feel what he’s doing with his tongue, the little devil.’

‘Look at the way his little belly jiggles when you fuck him.’

‘Kili!’

‘I think it’s sweet! I want to jiggle it myself. Hurry up and come. Do you want me to stick a finger up your bum and help?’

Fili’s cock slid to a stop, his hips twitching slightly, and he sighed. ‘Bilbo, do you think you could manage with two of us? Otherwise he’ll never shut up.’

‘Mmph?’

‘He said yes,’ Kili said immediately. ‘You heard him.’

‘Be patient, you,’ said Thorin, with an admonitory frown. ‘Do you want to try that, Bilbo? On the strict understanding that if you don’t enjoy it they’ll stop immediately?’’

‘He’s nodding! That is _definitely_ nodding!’

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin repeated, gruffly but gently. ‘I’d like to hear you _say_ it, just so I don’t worry about you. I’ve had quite enough of that.’ He released one ankle and gently pushed back on Bilbo’s forehead, although he whined in his throat and kept sucking.

‘You’ll have to let go of him for a bit anyway,’ Fili said, ‘because we’ll have to move to let Kili in.’

Bilbo drew back and wiped his mouth. ‘I _was_ nodding,’ he said sulkily. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Told you,’ Kili said delightedly, slathering his erection with duck fat.

‘If you can feel the slightest thing going wrong, you _stop,’_ Thorin warned Kili. ‘He’s only little and I won’t have him ruined.’

‘I _beg_ your _pardon,’_ Bilbo said, getting up on his dignity as well as one can with a cock in one’s arse, ‘but I’m not a child, and I’m not made of tissue-paper, and I’d take all three of you together if I could think how - if I felt like it.’

‘All right, all right, you clench up when you get fierce,’ Fili said soothingly. ‘Here, hold onto my shoulders, I’m going to hold your hips - just like that - and roll us over. There... good. Get comfortable, sort out your legs, Kili will wait.’ He stretched out his own legs as Bilbo lowered his, getting his knees settled on the ground, Fili’s hands stroking over and over his hips and bottom. ‘Comfy now? Just lean forward, lean on me and hold on as tight as you like. Lift your bum up a bit.’

‘But you’ll slide out.’

‘Not all the way, and Kili’ll be pushing me back in. Give us a kiss? Mmm. Now.... the great thing for you is to stay relaxed. I’ll keep stroking your back and your bum, and you think soft, open, stretchy thoughts. Try it now, Kili.’

‘Finally!’ said Kili. Bilbo could feel him edging into position on his knees, in between his own legs and Fili’s, and caught his breath as Kili grasped his buttocks, spreading them further apart. Kili’s thumbs pressed into the opened cleft, drawing upward, further stretching the rim wrapped snugly around Fili’s cock. ‘Dear little hobbit-hole,’ Kili murmured happily. ‘Always room for one more.’ He shifted his grip, one thumb continuing the pressure, and took his cock in the other hand, sliding the head along the shaft of Fili’s and into the ring.

Bilbo was half distracted from that astonishing sensation by a touch on his head. Thorin was stroking back his hair, kneeling beside them and staring at him with a look of earnest frowning concern that was touching, even if he considered it quite unnecessary. Perhaps a little bit necessary; it was not easy to stretch like this, and his breathing was reduced to shallow little pants and whimpers as Kili bore in. It didn’t _hurt,_ precisely, but it felt extremely tight and tense and as if hurting were a possibility at any moment. He was gripping two folds of Fili’s tunic so tightly his knuckles ached.

‘Soft, open, stretchy thoughts,’ Fili breathed, kneading at his lower back. ‘He’s just going to slide in like a finger into a glove.’

‘That somebody else is already wearing,’ Bilbo blurted out.

‘Shhhh... plenty of room... trust me, I’ve been where you are now. So’s Kili. It’s going to feel so good once you get used to it.’

‘There it goes!’ Kili gasped. ‘I’m right in.’

‘We’d noticed,’ Fili said, smiling over Bilbo’s shoulder at him. ‘Wait a minute while he composes himself.’

‘Can you feel it twitching? Ahh...’

‘Let it stop twitching before you move, that’s all.’

Though he tried his best to catch his breath, Bilbo could not stop panting. Little sharp gasps rushed in and out of him, and his ring was throbbing along with his heartbeat. He hadn’t felt this _full_ since his first time, and he would be as nervous as he was then if it weren’t for the vivid memory of how good _that_ felt once he was used to it. Oh, there it was, that growing heat in his belly and his balls, and fireworks were going off in his head like flowers in the night. A long sweet shudder rolled up his body, and the tightness eased off a good deal. 

‘Do you think you’ll be all right now?’ Fili was asking him, his voice gentle and coaxing. ‘We’ll go nice and slowly to start. Kili sets the pace when we do this, so you tell him how you need it.’

‘And Fili just lies there and enjoys being squeezed by you and rubbed by me at the same time,’ Kili added.

‘True.’

‘Aah... ah...’ This was Bilbo’s nearest approach to answering them at first. With a great effort, he managed to say ‘Go on.’

‘There...’ Kili drew back and rolled in again, slick and smooth, with a deeply pleased grunt. ‘Like that?’

‘C-can you push _down_ a bit more? Oh - oh!’ That wasn’t just fireworks, that was _pudding,_ hot steamed pudding drenched in golden syrup and drowned in cream. ‘Again!’ They were moving, sliding and rubbing inside him, and there were moments of discomfort, but far more that made him gasp and pant in delight. He was sandwiched again, pressed between their bodies, wonderfully firm and strong, their hands together clutching at his hips. Fili’s tunic had ridden up as they rolled over and Bilbo’s cock was nestled and rubbing in the soft, curling hair on his belly. He pushed himself up on his arms, braced his hands on Fili’s shoulders, and rocked back into the next thrust. ‘Oh! There!’ 

For a long, lovely time Bilbo thought of nothing but the deep, hot, sweet pounding sensation, the feel of their cocks sliding over one another and in and out of him. He lost whatever fragments of self-consciousness he had left, panting and moaning, and Fili and Kili’s deep grunts and rough breathing surrounded him. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat; he flicked it back, and caught sight of Thorin, who he had quite forgotten about. That seemed awfully unfair. Thorin was kneeling there watching them avidly, cock in hand and rubbing it briskly.

‘Don’t,’ Bilbo said. ‘I mean - come here. I want to.’

‘He _does_ want to take all three of us,’ Kili said.

‘Stay off my hair!’ Fili cried anxiously as Thorin shuffled in on his knees. 

‘I’ll be careful of your precious hair,’ Thorin said, with a trace of a smile. He slid one hand into Bilbo’s hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and his cock into Bilbo’s open mouth to be sucked like a sweet. ‘And... aah... _your_ precious mouth...’

When Bilbo remembered it later, and he remembered it many, many times, he couldn’t settle to his satisfaction when Kili or Fili came, but he knew _he_ went off like a dropped bottle of cream shortly before Thorin clutched at his hair and groaned, and he felt a thick spurt against the roof of his mouth and tasted brackish salt. Thorin, trembling, fell back to sit on his haunches, leaving a trail of spunk down Bilbo’s chin. After that he lay on top of Fili feeling exhausted and blissful, far too limp to move when Kili eased his cock out with a squelchy pop and rolled onto his back beside them.

‘I have two things to say,’ Kili said faintly. ‘First, we should have been doing this absolutely all the time. Secondly, woohahahahahawhee!’

‘I don’t know,’ said Fili. Bilbo felt his voice rumbling through his chest, low and peaceful. ‘I think it’s nice we did it now...you all right, Bilbo?’

‘Mmm...’ 

‘You can’t go to sleep there,’ Thorin said briskly, rousing himself. He got up on his knees, slid his hands under Bilbo’s arms and hauled him off Fili and into his own arms. ‘And you’ll get cold. Find his trousers, one of you.’ He began buttoning Bilbo’s shirt for him, stopping only because Bilbo looped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

‘Oh, thank you!’

‘I did little enough for you,’ Thorin said gruffly, and wiped Bilbo’s chin with his thumb. ‘I think you should be thanking the others.’

‘You can thank me,’ said Fili, ‘because I found your trousers _and_ your drawers.’ He threw both over Bilbo’s shoulders and smacked a kiss onto his cheek. ‘And I’ll thank you because that was one of the nicest fucks I ever had.’

‘And me,’ said Kili, putting a matching kiss on the other cheek. ‘Do we really have to go back on watch?’

‘No, you’re all right there,’ said another voice a few feet off. Bilbo looked round, rather startled, and saw Bofur sitting up, scratching under his hat. ‘I’ll take over, and you can get some kip. Suppose I should thank you for the show, while we’re all being so polite.’

‘Um. I’m terribly sorry we disturbed you,’ Bilbo said, all his self-consciousness pouring back.

‘Oh, no, it’s all right!’ Bofur gave his hair an affectionate ruffle as he passed on his way to the fire. ‘I just want my turn next time, that’s all.’

‘Next time?’ Bilbo mumbled.

‘Of course next time,’ Kili said, trying to manoeuvre a trouser leg over Bilbo’s right foot. ‘You’re going to be very popular. Not just a burglar!’

‘I’m not sure I can cope,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘Three was an awful lot...’

‘Then we’ll draw lots,’ Fili suggested.

‘We’ll discuss it in the morning,’ Thorin said firmly.

Bilbo slept deeply and well, albeit with his trousers on backwards and his drawers inside out, curled up under Thorin’s arm, his heavy cloak wrapped over them both.


	2. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theme of the last one was pudding; the theme of this one is a picnic. Next time will probably be dinner, perhaps a feast.  
> I have decided entirely off my own bat that hobbit smut is always food-themed. Otherwise they can't really get into it.

The next portion of the narrative takes place near the beginning of the conventional Chapter Seven, apparently in between two sentences: ‘Then they took off their clothes and bathed in the river, which was shallow and clear and stony at the ford. When they had dried in the sun, which was now strong and warm, they were refreshed, if still sore and a little hungry.’ One can only commend Mr Baggins’ ruthlessness as a self-editor, if indeed this portion is his own work.

 

The taking off of clothes was very interesting to Bilbo, for more than one reason. After last night’s fun, he was, of course, feeling extremely interested in the dwarves’ bodies, and watched eagerly as each of their many layers were stripped off and laid aside. In the process, though, there was the additional curiosity of seeing how cleverly they had contrived to keep an awful lot of things he would have thought they had lost in the recent adventures. 

‘When you’re vagabonds like us,’ Bofur explained, showing him the lining of his tunic, ‘you can’t count on keeping your luggage, so we’ve got lots of little pockets and pouches sewn in and tucked away, for valuables. The goblins didn’t find half of them, search as they would. So I’ve still got a wee bit of pocket money, and my sewing kit, pipe and baccy, my knife and fork - don’t want to be without those! I did lose my tin whistle, but I’ve still got my emergency harmonica.’ He blew a scale of notes on it, and his eyes twinkled when Bilbo laughed. 

They were sitting on a warm, flat stone on the riverbank, enjoying the feeling of the sun on their skins. Bofur had peeled off the top half of his woollen combinations, and all around them were dwarves undressing, with much mumbling and grunting and complaining of stiffness and soreness. Only Fili and Kili were really cheerful, and had spent the whole morning winking at Bilbo and petting him in passing. Kili came over now, swaggering rather in nothing but his boots, his clothes bundled under his arm. He threw them onto the ground by the stone and boosted himself up to sit beside Bilbo.

‘Hello, Mr Baggins!’ he said with a charming smile.

‘You’re all very hairy, aren’t you?’ Bilbo said. 

Kili glanced down at himself, the pelt of dark-brown hair over his chest and belly, and the lighter but still thick covering of his shoulders, arms and legs. ‘I suppose so. Just looks normal to me.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t complaining, you know. It’s just jolly interesting to see the differences. I’ve got hairy feet, you’ve got hairy everything else.’ Bilbo regarded his feet ruefully; at home he would have kept the hair nicely washed and brushed, and the nails clean and trimmed. Now they were chipped and dirt-rimmed, and the one on his right little toe had been nearly torn off while running around under the mountain. It was awfully sore, but he didn’t feel he could really complain about it too loudly when other people were considerably more battered.

‘I envy your tough feet, though,’ Bofur said, levering off his boots. ‘I’ve got very tender soles, and the stones in the riverbed are going to be a bit rough on them.’ He peeled off a pair of socks that looked almost thick enough to count as armour, and had left the pattern of their knitting imprinted on two very pale feet.

‘Oh, you do have some hair on them, though,’ Bilbo exclaimed. ‘Look, on the tops and the toes. They’re much smaller than they look in those big boots, though.’

‘The boots are lined with lots of sheep’s wool, that’s why. The last thing you want down in a deep mine is cold toes.’ Bofur picked a tuft of wool off his sock and tucked it carefully back inside the boot.

‘Our builds are pretty different, too,’ Kili pointed out. ‘You’ve got a short little trunk and long legs compared with it.’ He gave Bilbo’s thigh a friendly squeeze. ‘Are you planning to go in the water with your drawers on?’

‘I do want to give them a wash. They’re rather stuck to me.’

‘Ah, terribly sorry,’ said Kili, grinning happily. He leaned in and breathed into Bilbo’s ear, ‘Bet you’re still feeling it,’ which flustered and tickled him in equal parts.

‘I don’t know what you said,’ Bofur said, ‘but if it makes him wriggle and giggle like that you can say it again.’

‘Just a little joke between friends,’ Kili said airily, and blew in Bilbo’s ear, which had much the same effect.

‘Stop it, you’re making me go all silly,’ he sputtered, and jumped down from the stone, bounding into the water with a great splash and clatter of pebbles.

The water was breathtakingly cold at first, but quickly grew tolerable. Everyone piled in with the exception of Gandalf, whose sole concession was to take off his boots and socks and sit with his feet in the water, smoking a quiet pipe before settling back with his hat over his eyes to sleep.

Some of the hidden pouches and pockets had evidently contained soap, ranging from a large hard yellow block reminiscent of a dried-out cheddar cheese, to little finely-milled flower-shaped soaps lifted from the bathroom in Rivendell. Fili presented one of the latter to Bilbo with a courtly little bow. Soon the water was foamy, and above the surface the dwarves resembled snowmen of soapsuds, until they ducked themselves and came up sputtering and snorting. Underclothes were scrubbed, rinsed and spread out to dry on the bank. Bilbo was most amused by the care the others took in unravelling, combing out and washing their hair. They made quite a picture, sitting on the riverbank in the sunshine plying their combs and pocket mirrors, and pairing off to groom each other, stubby fingers deftly parting and braiding the still-damp locks, while he continued to swim, holding onto a submerged log and kicking his feet in the cool current.

‘Come out and we’ll do yours,’ Fili offered, hunched over a little mirror propped on a rock to braid his moustachios while Kili worked on his mane.

‘No fear. My hair’s too short, and I’d look silly. Not that you look silly, mind! It suits you.’

Thorin, too, was still in the water, sitting comfortably with his back against a little curved dam of stones which Oin and Gloin had erected, making a sheltered pool. Bilbo splashed over there and settled in beside him.

‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked, feeling half shy. Despite waking up together, and giving him a deep and thorough good-morning kiss, Thorin had hardly spoken to him today. Now that he had his clothes off, Bilbo could see the state of his injuries. The warg’s teeth had not been able to penetrate his armour, but had crushed it into his chest and back, raising huge, dark bruises and several swollen welts. It looked extremely uncomfortable.

‘The water is soothing,’ Thorin answered.

‘Are you sure your ribs are all right?’ Bilbo asked. ‘Because perhaps you ought to be bandaged up.’

‘They’re fine,’ Thorin said with a hint of a smile. ‘Dwarf bones are made of stone and cast iron, didn’t you know? Feel for yourself, if you’re worried.’ He took Bilbo’s hand and placed it against his ribcage.

‘Well, I wouldn’t know.’ Bilbo slid his hand up to Thorin’s chest, feeling the firm muscle and combing his fingers into the thick hair that flowed like waterweed.

‘What did you think,’ Thorin said abruptly, ‘about the suggestion of a lottery for your favours?’

‘Er, what?’ He’d been a bit distracted by the chest.

‘Of course, it will only work if you’re happy to do it. And whoever drew the lucky straw would still have to ask your leave. If you didn’t want him, or simply didn’t feel up to it, you could say no without repercussion, even a frown - I would see to that.’

‘Not wanting isn’t a problem. I, um, I...’

‘Can’t be satisfied with just one lover?’ Thorin asked, that faint smile appearing again. Being smiled at by Thorin quite flustered him.

‘No, no, that - er - that is to say, I - oh, drat it, this was so much simpler when I was younger and we all just piled together however we liked.’

‘Why did you stop? Your experience was a surprise, you know. I expected you to be far more prim. Quite a hidden side to you.’

‘Er. Well, you see, when I was a boy, I spent a great deal of time playing with my Took cousins, out in the woods and fields and so on, and as we grew up, we, er, we started playing with ourselves and each other, and the older ones broke we younger ones in, and it was all just lovely fun, all boys together. But then, well, my father died.’

‘Ah,’ Thorin said, in a tone of quiet sympathy.

‘It wasn’t violent or tragic. He fell asleep in his deckchair in the garden on a sunny day like this, and didn’t wake up. But you see, after that my mother needed me at home, because he was always the one who had made home _home,_ cooking and tidying and making all sorts of pretty, comfortable things... and since I missed him so dreadfully I tried to do all the things he used to do, which took up all my time. Since everybody said what a help I was being, and how much I had grown up, and the Baggins relations, his family, particularly praised me, I wanted to keep on. I put all that boyish nonsense behind me, even after Mother was gone too. I was used to it by then.’ He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t make very much sense. Anyway, the point is, I’m quite used to being with lots of different chaps all together and you needn’t worry about that.’

‘I’d rather impose some sort of order on it,’ Thorin said. ‘You were hard to wake this morning; much as you might like to be passed around like a shared pipe, you’ll be good for nothing on this quest if you’re buggered by the whole party every night.’

‘The _whole_ party?’ Bilbo squeaked.

‘Well, I don’t know yet whether they’d _all_ want to - but you seemed to have your sights set on it.’

‘Not _quite,_ thank you very much. A group of six was my record, and that was on Midsummer Eve and I stayed in bed all the next day, pretending I had a tummy-ache.’

‘I should just think you had.’ Thorin raised his eyebrows.

‘That’s six in a row, you understand, no doubles like last night. And three of them had seconds, so I could count it as nine, but six seems more honest. I don’t mean to show off.’

‘Yes, I believe you do.’

‘All right. I do a little bit. You may smile, but I think I was quite a lad!’

‘Why, I can just see you.’ Under the water, Thorin slipped his hand onto Bilbo’s thigh, running his fingers lightly up and down. ‘How did you prefer to take it? On your back, on all fours, in someone’s lap?’

‘I wasn’t particular. But I did want to be cuddled and kissed before and after. During, if possible.’

‘Ah, you’re like Fili that way. He’s always been a devil for kissing.’ Thorin began to knead at the inside of Bilbo’s thigh, working his way higher.

‘You, and, er, and, well, them, and _them_... is that usual for dwarves?’

‘You said you carried on with your cousins.’ Thorin shrugged one shoulder.

‘Cousins are one thing, nephews and brothers are another.’

‘I don’t really see why. It doesn’t affect breeding either way. If it’s just for pleasure, and everyone is willing, isn’t it all the same?’

‘It’s... it’s just not the way we do it. Of course you’ve got your own way.’ Bilbo was still not quite sure about this, but very sure he didn’t want to argue with someone massaging his thigh that way, and giving him that come-hither look. ‘And it’s different in different families. You would never find the Bagginses carrying on that way, but the Tooks can’t do without it.’

‘Then I’m glad you’re half a Took. Do you think it’s your lower half?’ At long last Thorin’s hand slipped over and around the base of Bilbo’s cock, squeezing and drawing along its length and making him shiver with pleasure and curl up his toes.

‘I don’t know... I’m told I’ve got B-Baggins feet.’

‘Never mind your feet.’ Thorin’s fingertips skimmed around the tip, circling. Bilbo bit his lower lip, closing his eyes delightedly, and felt a bristling kiss just where his neck joined his shoulder. That prickling, brushing, tickling sensation of whiskers against his skin was one he very much wanted to get used to. He could just imagine how gloriously whiskery it would feel to have Thorin pressed up against him at full length (perhaps lying amid the long grass in the meadow alongside the riverbank, that would be awfully nice), and the only consideration that stopped him begging for it was the look of those poor bruises. And now, aah, that strong hand wrapping and stroking, down and up again, slowly and firmly.

‘Oh, that’s lovely...’ he breathed. He fumbled over and found Thorin’s cock, hard and thick, and rubbed in return, basking in the warm sunshine on his face and the delicious wet friction on his shaft. He slid sideways a little, rubbing his cheek against Thorin’s shoulder. ‘Ooooh...’

‘Quite happy, are you?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Such a sweet look on your face.’ The rosy gold Bilbo could see through his eyelids dimmed as Thorin leaned over and kissed his mouth, his tongue delving in eagerly. With gradually escalating sighs and grunts, and the occasional delighted whimper from Bilbo, they worked each other faster, ripples in the water becoming splashes. Bilbo rolled onto his hip, Thorin’s arm wrapping tight around his waist, and twined his own free arm over Thorin’s shoulder, clutching at his back. Thorin’s hand slid down over the small of his back, one thick finger nudged down between his buttocks, and he felt a glorious pressure in just the right spot to bring him off, shaking and jerking his hips. 

He sank down a bit, his forehead on Thorin’s shoulder, feeling very pleasantly emptied-out and dizzy, with little sweet twitches in his thighs and his belly.

‘Don’t slide under the water,’ Thorin rumbled. ‘I shouldn’t have to save you from drowning.’

‘Oh dear, no.’ Bilbo splashed some water on his face. ‘You’ve given me a wonderful idea, though.’ Holding Thorin’s warm erection, he took a deep breath and ducked his head under the water to suck. He couldn’t hold his breath well enough to stay down for long, but from the way Thorin gripped his shoulders he thought his efforts were well received. Lick and suck until his chest was bursting, up for a deep gulp of air, and back down into wet darkness, his mouth stuffed full and the water gurgling in his ears. Then the lovely feelng of the bulbous head swelling and twitching on his tongue, and the sharp taste of come. He surfaced with a gasp, wiping water from his eyes, his head pounding and spinning, and slumped against Thorin’s side, panting happily.

They lay there until Bilbo began to notice the stones digging into his bottom a trifle uncomfortably, and shifted his weight. Thorin turned his head and gave him a lazy smile, his eyes half-hooded. All he could do was smile back, feeling idiotically happy and affectionate. 

The warmth and tranquility of the moment were rather spoiled by Bilbo’s stomach giving a very loud rumble. Thorin had the decency not to laugh directly at him, but shook his head and smiled again, looking away for a moment.

‘I’m not surprised you’re hungry; we’ll have to forage for something to eat. A pity we didn’t think of fishing before we went crashing around in the river frightening off everything that lives in it.’

‘But we don’t have lines or hooks,’ Bilbo said, surprised.

‘We have pins, and we could use threads from our clothes or hairs off our heads. Dwalin, though you might not know it to look at him, is very good at tickling trout. Foraging is rather harder, though. I don’t know enough of the local plants to be sure what’s good or even safe to eat.’

‘I had a cousin who was good at tickling trout; good at tickling generally. The closest I’ve come to foraging was scrumping, though, so I don’t think I’ll be much help there either.’ Bilbo got up and stretched, pressing his hands into the small of his back, then offered one to Thorin to help him to his feet. When he was standing, the water streaming off him and making paths through his hair, Bilbo looked again at his injuries with some concern. ‘Are you _quite_ sure you’re all right?’

‘You’re bruised and scraped yourself. Don’t worry about me.’

‘I know, and I’ve got a _really_ sore toe. Still. If there’s anything I could do to make you feel a bit better...’

‘You’ve just done it. Do you want to stand here all day?’ Thorin asked gruffly. He softened his tone a little to ask ‘On your sore toe?’

They made their way back up the bank and stretched out on a flat rock to dry and soak up the sun. Bilbo quickly grew drowsy, and lay on his belly, his head pillowed on his folded arms with his eyes closed, not exactly sleeping but not at all awake, vaguely thinking that adventures really needed more days like this, just with a picnic lunch laid on. A mouthful of spunk didn’t even count as a snack, and the flavour left a lot to be desired. He began to dream of sandwiches and pies, of cold roast chicken and wild strawberries and ginger-beer, and thought he could almost taste them when he was woken by someone gently tickling his ear.

‘Psst, Bilbo. Psssttt.’ Kili and Fili were crouching behind him, once again in nothing but boots and smiles.

‘Are you planning to dress like that from now on?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes. ‘It looks nice, but it doesn’t seem very safe.’

‘Our smalls aren’t dry yet. Wool takes a while. We’re going to go and see if we can find anything to eat. Do you want to come?’ Fili was whispering so as not to wake the others, who were sprawled about the landscape and snoring contentedly. The only other person awake was Bombur, who was crouched hopefully by the water with a bent pin attached to a twisted line of several long red hairs.

‘All right.’ The prospect of something to eat, or failing that, messing about with Fili and Kili, was enough to prise him away from the warm stone.

They crossed the river to the meadow side, Kili carrying both sets of boots over his head and Fili carrying Bilbo on his back through a deep bit, and made their way up the bank to a broad expanse of tall green grasses scattered with wildflowers. The grass swished softly against their bare legs, and they could hear the soft drone of bees. Apart from the general lack of civilisation and some unfamiliar vegetation, it reminded Bilbo very pleasantly of a summer’s day in the Shire.

‘Does any of this look like food to you?’ Kili asked, straightening up after pulling on his boots.

‘Um. Dandelion leaves are nice in a salad,’ Bilbo suggested, nudging at a clump of them with his toe.

‘Salad?’ They looked at him with their noses crinkled.

‘Well, what did you expect?’

‘I don’t know. What does a potato plant look like from the top?’ Fili asked.

‘Potato _bush._ Potatoes grow on bushes,’ Kili said firmly.

‘They grow underground, and we’re not going to find them growing wild in any case,’ Bilbo said, shaking his head. 

‘It’s not our fault our people are warriors and miners and craftsmen, not farmers,’ Fili said, picking a dandelion leaf and looking at it doubtfully. ‘We haven’t got the role models.’

‘Don’t look at it like that - it’s perfectly good food,’ Bilbo said, sitting down amid the grass. ‘I admit it’s not very satisfying. You’d have to eat an awful lot of dandelion leaves to feel full.’ His stomach gurgled again, and he felt rather forlorn.

‘Can you eat the flowers?’ Kili asked. 

‘Don’t eat them. They’re mostly good for telling the time and making wishes.’ Bilbo picked one with a fine fluffy white head, wished and blew. The seeds danced away on the breeze.

‘What did you wish for?’

‘If I tell you it won’t come true, now will it?’

‘It won’t spoil the wish if we guess, though,’ Kili said, depositing himself beside Bilbo and stretching out, propped up on his elbows. ‘Hum-hum-hum... did you wish for a glorious victory over the dragon and pots of gold all round?’

‘No.’

‘What about a safe journey from here on, with no more goblins, trolls, orcs or other monstrosities?’ Fili suggested, sitting down cross-legged and attempting to tickle the sole of Bilbo’s foot with a blade of grass, which he could hardly feel.

‘No.’

‘Did you wiiiiiiish... to be ravished in a field by two very nice dwarves of your acquaintance?’ Kili asked with great slyness. 

‘I actually wished for a miraculous picnic hamper to appear, but I wouldn’t complain about the other.’

‘Right!’ Kili rolled over him, laughing, and pinned him down with a wet kiss. Bilbo wrapped his arms and legs around the strong, stocky body on top of him and returned the kiss joyfully, sucking Kili’s tongue. They rubbed together, grunting, and the smell of crushed grass and warm skin filled Bilbo’s head deliciously. There was some sort of wild mint in the meadow, and Kili’s own cinnamony odour was reasserting itself as he grew warmer.

‘Leave some for me,’ Fili protested. ‘He isn’t just for you.’ He pushed Bilbo, and Kili with him, onto his side and snuggled in behind him, nipping at the back of his neck and making him squirm.

‘I love the way you _wriggle,’_ Fili murmured. ‘Are you ticklish? Should we find out?’

‘No! Definitely not! Stop that!’ But they were both on him, finding the ticklish spots with fiendish accuracy, under his arms, his waist, his tummy, and he was twitching helplessly and giggling until the tears ran down his face. ‘This - is - not - _fair!_ Two of you ganging up on me.’

‘You liked having two of us last night,’ Fili pointed out, and squeezed Bilbo’s bum affectionately.

‘You still like it, really,’ Kili said, with a matching squeeze of Bilbo’s plump, stiff cock.

‘Tickling’s different,’ Bilbo sniffed. ‘It’s unsporting.’

‘Not enjoying yourself, then?’ Kili kissed his cheek.

‘Well, I’m enjoying _that._ And lying in between you two, all warm and furry. If we ever sleep in a proper bed again, I’d like to do that.’

‘Ah, but this is a nice bed too,’ Fili said. He eased Bilbo onto his back again and nodded to Kili. ‘I think this time, instead of top and tail, we should do left and right.’

‘What’s that?’ Bilbo asked.

‘It’s when you lie there comfortably and we enjoy making you happy right down both sides of your body. I’m left,’ Fili explained, and kissed his side of Bilbo’s neck, just under his ear, sucking just enough to leave a pink, flushed mark.

‘And I’m right,’ Kili added, making the matching mark on his side. ‘Mm?’

‘Mmm...’ Bilbo closed his eyes, breathing deeply, the sun glowing through his eyelids. Their warm, wet mouths worked down the sides of his neck and over his collarbones, while their hands stroked over and over his chest and belly. They didn’t match perfectly. Kili’s kisses were heavier and more insistent; Fili fluttered his tongue against Bilbo’s skin in a way that made him shiver sweetly. By contrast, Kili’s fingers traced up and down lightly, raising goosebumps and edging close to tickling again; Fili’s steady palms smoothed the goosebumps down again and soothed the flutters in his stomach.

‘Soft and smooth,’ Fili breathed, pressing a trail of kisses down over Bilbo’s chest to circle his nipple with his tongue-tip. ‘Just a little fluff here.’ He twirled one finger in the small tuft of soft hair over Bilbo’s breastbone. Bilbo moaned faintly as Kili began sucking the other nipple, flicking with his tongue as it swelled. Their hands were circling lower now, with occasional brushes against his cock, lying stiff against his belly and twitching in response. Then they were stroking it in turn, hand over hand, up over its tender underside, still sucking his nipples until they throbbed. 

‘Oh... oh please... will you suck it now?’

‘Of course!’

‘Anything.’ They nuzzled down over his belly and began to lick his cock in long, smooth strokes, and Bilbo lifted his hips, pressing up to their warm wet tongues. Fili’s mouth closed over the tip and he sucked, swishing his tongue from side to side under the head, while Kili pushed Bilbo’s thighs apart and nuzzled his balls, giving them soft, ticklish kisses that made him gasp and hitch his bottom against the ground.

‘Swap,’ Kili panted, and they changed places, Fili rolling Bilbo’s balls with his tongue and Kili almost swallowing his cock. He dug his heels into the grass and arched his back, giving short, hoarse little cries until he trembled all over and collapsed in sticky bliss.

‘We’re good, aren’t we?’ he heard Kili say.

’We’re very good indeed!’ Fili replied, and when he opened his eyes they were kissing over him, up on their knees, each tugging the other’s cock. He watched contentedly until they sprayed one another’s bellies and sank down, stretching out on either side of him, their bushy chests rapidly rising and falling, faces wreathed in smiles.

Fili stretched his arms over his head and uttered a deep grunt of satisfaction. ‘That was just what I needed.’

‘It was very good in its way, but I would still like a picnic,’ Bilbo mused.


	3. Midnight Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was going to be 'dinner' themed, as the previous ones were 'pudding' and 'picnic,' but it turned into more of a midnight feast.

The following fragment was discovered recently, in a previously overlooked folder in the Gamgee Archives. It describes events taking place during the party’s brief stay in the house of Beorn. The usual caveats as to its provenance apply, and seekers of a dissenting view are referred to the compendious work of Dr Araminta Sackville-Baggins. 

Dr Sackville-Baggins rightly points out that _both_ versions of Bilbo waking in the night cannot be true. Either he woke, heard the sounds of a great bear outside, and eventually fell asleep again, or this happened.

 

Bilbo was deeply grateful to sink into a soft bed after a filling meal. True, it was a straw mattress rather than the dense, soft feather-bed he had at home, with woollen blankets rather than his fine cambric sheets, and true, the dwarves had grumbled very much, when they thought Beorn and Gandalf couldn’t hear, about the disappointment of another meatless meal, but for his own part he was stuffed full of honey, toast, clotted cream and new milk, and found it perfectly satisfactory for the time being. He hugged the blankets around himself and curled into a ball, then stretched out and splayed his toes before curling up again for the sheer pleasure of being able to do so.

Thorin, who had the pallet next to his, rolled over and draped an arm over him, pulling him in towards himself. ‘Stop squirming about,’ he rumbled, and kissed Bilbo’s nape before relaxing, his body heavy and warm.

‘I’m just getting comfortable.’ Bilbo snuggled back against him, wriggling his bottom.

‘Mmph. No being seductive. I am sorely tired.’

‘I _was_ just getting comfortable, but I’ll remember you thought that was seductive.’ Bilbo smiled in the dark. This was one thing he’d almost forgotten how much he’d enjoyed when he was younger - not just the physical pleasure, most of which you could have on your own if you knew how to do it, but the thrilling feeling of being attractive and desired. Being reliable and respectable was gratifying, but not a patch on this now that he felt it again. He wanted to take advantage of it at all opportunities.

‘Shhh,’ Thorin murmured. His thumb moved against Bilbo’s chest, drowsily stroking. Gradually, his breathing slowed and deepened, and just as gradually, Bilbo drifted off to sleep.

He woke at some very dark, still hour, very much in need of a visit to the privy. After a long and uncomfortable hesitation, owing largely to being in a strange place in the middle of the night but also to being very cosy where he was, he crawled out from under Thorin’s arm and his blankets, crept over to the great fireplace set into the floor, lit a beeswax candle from the coals and padded outside in his shirtsleeves. There was an outhouse behind the hall, although as Beorn had built it with himself in mind, the seat was so high and the hole cut in it so wide that the only way for Bilbo to use it was to climb up, stand with his feet on the edge of the hole and try to pee without falling in, a nightmarish thought. He almost did when he heard a wolf howl in the far distance, but a few moments’ startled listening reassured him that it was a common or garden wolf, not a warg.

Greatly relieved, with his heart still pattering, he clambered down and returned to the house. Inside, he was surprised to find Bofur by the fire, lighting his pipe from the embers. 

‘Hallo,’ Bilbo whispered. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘Oh, I slept like a wee baby, but I woke up when you got up and couldn’t get off again.’ Bofur sucked at the pipe and the inside of the bowl glowed briefly red. ‘Thought I’d have a smoke and wait till I got sleepy again.’

‘I wish _I_ could,’ Bilbo said, with feeling, ‘but my pipe was in my knapsack, so it’s long gone.’

‘You should’ve said. I’ll make you a new one. No, it’s no trouble. I tell you what, have a seat and we’ll share for now.’

‘Thanks.’ Together they sat down on the step down to the firepit, warming their feet at the coals. Even on a summer night, the heat was pleasant, and the pipeweed very welcome, although Bofur favoured a very strong variety that made Bilbo sneeze at first puff. They passed the pipe companionably back and forth, and blew smoke-rings, and Bilbo happened to think of Thorin’s remark about him being passed around like a shared pipe and felt his face grow warmer than the fire accounted for.

‘I hope you didn’t think I was trying to creep off in the night again,’ he said, mostly for something to say. He wasn’t quite sure how to work around to what he wanted to say, namely, ‘do you want your turn tonight?’

‘Ah, no, I’ve no worries on that front now,’ Bofur said, smiling at him so that his eyes crinkled pleasantly. ‘Nor has Thorin.’

‘I’ve never known someone to change his opinion of me so completely,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘I’m very happy, but it really seems as if he changed in a moment from contempt to- affection.’ He concentrated, and managed to send a smoke-ring through the middle of Bofur’s previous one.

‘No, no no. He always liked you. You don’t know him. It’s because he’s a prince, so he thinks he’s always got to be strong. When you were in danger, that frightened him, and he couldn’t _show_ fear because he’d feel weak, so he got angry instead. All of that grumping around, that was just hurt feelings and nerves, and pride. Terribly proud, is Thorin.’

 _‘He_ said,’ began Bilbo, ‘that he thought _you_ had a soft spot for me.’

‘And if I have?’ Bofur asked, smiling.

‘I’d - well, I’d be pleased.’

‘Come on, you know I have, don’t you? I thought I was pretty obvious, but I didn’t want to be pushy.’ Bofur gave him a little nudge with his elbow.

‘I thought you were friendly, but I couldn’t be sure.’

‘Maybe it went over your head because you’re not a dwarf, but giving you part of my tunic for a hanky, that was me being _very_ flirty.’

‘I’m afraid that went _right_ over my head.’

‘Ah, well, not hard to do,’ Bofur said, ruffling Bilbo’s hair with one hand.

‘I _beg_ your pardon. Did I just hear a _short_ joke from a _dwarf?’_

‘We don’t get to make them all that often! Besides, it’s part of your charm. We’ve all got something. I’ve got a hat.’

‘Do you think that’s all?’

‘Why, I don’t know. Shall I take it off, and we can see if you still like me?’ Bofur took off his hat and smoothed the crown of his head. ‘Or have I just ruined my chances?’

‘Here.’ Bilbo took hold of the end of one of Bofur’s plaits, drew him closer and kissed him. He was very interested to note that while Thorin, Fili and Kili didn’t hesitate at all in kissing him, just at the beginning there was a definite hesitation from Bofur, a stillness before he pressed in, as if he was making sure this was really happening. Then the uncertainty was gone, and they shared a very warm and smoke-flavoured kiss, and another, and another, until he was very much rumpled and very happy about it.

‘Do you want to come back to bed with me?’ he asked.

‘I’m a bit scared to,’ Bofur admitted.

‘Thorin doesn’t care. He’s happy to share me.’

‘No, no, that’s not it. If we make too much noise we’ll wake up those great big dogs. They look like they could be very strict about noise after lights-out.’

Bilbo smothered a laugh. ‘Then what if we keep it very quiet? And we could stay over here, so we don’t wake the others either.’

‘You’re a wicked one, you are.’ Bofur planted his hat back on firmly and knocked his pipe out against the heel of his boot. ‘You’ve talked me into it.’

‘And a good thing too.’ Bilbo clambered over to straddle his lap, slung his arms around his shoulders and took his time kissing him again, getting acquainted with this new and interesting mouth, the tickle of a different moustache on his upper lip. He felt Bofur’s hands settle on his knees and slide up and down his thighs and squirmed happily.

‘I was starting to worry you only fancied the royals,’ Bofur said. ‘I’m glad I get a turn too.’

‘Oh, no no no. Don’t go thinking that. They help themselves, though. Especially Kili and Fili. So you mustn’t wait around politely saying “after you” - just barge in and grab me.’

‘Throw you over my shoulder and bear you off? Right you are.’ Bofur grabbed Bilbo’s hips with an affectionate growl.

‘Shh!’ Another kiss seemed the best way to keep the noise down, though they were both suppressing laughter which made their lips buzz and tickle, and that made the urge to laugh worse, as did repeatedly whispering ‘Stop it!’ and ‘Shut up!’ to each other.

‘All right, all right, we’re not laughing, we’re quiet as mice.’ Bofur reached into their shared lap and began unbuttoning Bilbo’s trousers.

‘If you laugh when you see it, you don’t get to touch it,’ Bilbo warned him.

‘Why would I laugh? That’s not funny. That’s lovely, that is.’ Thick fingers eased his cock out of his drawers and kneaded along its length.

‘Smaller than all of you, though. I was particularly checking when we were bathing in the river.’

‘You’re smaller than us all over. You’d look silly with a great big tallywhacker down to your knees. And it’d get in your way when you ran. Imagine it slapping from side to side. No, you’re far better off with this. How’s that feel?’

‘Ahh...’ Bilbo bit his lip, leaning his forehead against Bofur’s. The front flap of the everlasting hat formed a bit of a pillow; how useful, particularly when he was going weak and shivery with pleasure. He sighed and nuzzled in for a kiss, plucking at Bofur’s lips, and was rewarded with a faster stroke.

‘You’ve got the same look on your face,’ Bofur breathed.

‘Hmm?’

‘When I saw you before, getting it from them...’

‘Ah...’

‘D’you want that from me, too?’

‘I’d love... but... got no grease or oil...’

‘Not to worry.’ Bofur fumbled in his sleeve and produced a small, rather dented metal bottle. 

‘Have you _always_ got that up your sleeve?’

‘What can I say? You never know your luck.’

‘Oh, I’m glad you’re so prepared, believe you me! Hold on a tick.’ With one hand on Bofur’s shoulder to steady him, Bilbo struggled out of one leg of his trousers and drawers, letting the other leg slide down to his knee.

‘Oh, I like that.’

‘Hm?’

‘Your cock peeping out from under your shirt-tails. Looks very nice. Your legs, too.’ He skimmed his hands up the backs of Bilbo’s thighs to squeeze his bottom.

‘Take your gloves off.’

‘Sorry, sorry.’

‘You all wear too many layers.’

‘Bugger, I’ve dropped-’

‘Got it.’ Bilbo managed to catch the little bottle before it could bounce down into the fireplace. He pulled out its cork, with his teeth when fingernails failed, and dripped some of the oil inside on Bofur’s proffered fingers.

‘Now stop it up again, we’ll want more.’

‘I should think so.’ He sealed the bottle as tightly as he could, and rested his arms on Bofur’s shoulders again, his breathing fluttery with anticipation as his fingers slid between his buttocks. ‘Ooh...’ There was the first stroke over the tight little opening, and another, and then Bofur was carefully wiggling his middle fingertip into it and he had to kiss him, as much for the kiss itself as to stop himself groaning out loud. As their tongues stroked each other and their breathing surged faster, the finger worked deeper and sparks ran along his nerves. Bilbo dropped one hand into Bofur’s lap and rubbed through the thick wool of his trousers and underthings, finding the long bulge of his cock confined over to one side. He whimpered in spite of himself as Bofur slipped his forefinger in alongside.

‘All right, pet?’

 _‘Oh,_ yes...’

‘Where’s it feel best? I’ll have a feel about, and you tell me.’

‘Mm... a bit deeper... and a bit left, no, my left... oh... _ooh...’_

‘Now that’s nice, isn’t it? Want me to diddle it round?’

_‘Mm!’_

‘Shh, shhh...’ Bofur’s free hand circled on his back, which he supposed would have been very soothing if it weren’t for the spot he was stroking inside, which had brought him close to coming embarrassingly soon.

‘Ohhh...’

‘Would you be ready for-’

‘Yes!’

‘D’you want to get mine out, then?’ Bofur drew his fingers out a little, though they were still stretching and rubbing the tender ring.

Bilbo tried his best, but his hands were shaking with excitement and he was confounded by the flappy arrangements of the woollen combinations. Bofur had to help him, one-handed and trying valiantly not to giggle. What was eventually unveiled was quite long and very red, with a pronounced rib along its underside and a gentle curve to the left.

‘Still keen?’ Bofur asked with half an anxious smile.

‘I’d kiss it if I could back up without landing in a fireplace,’ Bilbo assured him. He uncorked the bottle again and drizzled oil onto the head of it, spreading it first with his thumb, then down the shaft with his whole hand. Bofur’s breathing changed, getting much deeper and rougher.

‘Do you want to pop it in, or shall I?’ he asked, slipping his fingers out.

‘I want to. Lie back a bit? That’s right...’ Bilbo shuffled himself forward a little, pushing the head of Bofur’s cock into his cleft with one hand, rubbing it up and down. ‘Oh yes... there...’ It nudged into his ring and his hips jerked reflexively, then he bore down, holding the shaft steady, his breath coming in little fluttery pants. Halfway down he had to stop a moment, bracing himself on one arm, and took a deep breath before pressing his bottom down the rest of the way. ‘Aah!’

Bofur’s breath exploded out of him in a great sigh, and he grabbed Bilbo’s thighs again, pushing up joyfully. Bilbo lifted himself on his knees and pushed back, glorious sensations churning inside him as he rode. He could, if he really tried, keep from crying out, but neither of them could stop himself gasping and grunting. He pumped his hips faster, his thighs beginning to ache with the effort, shivering helplessly on the strokes that hit his sweet spot. Faster, sweeter, and he sank down with a frustrated moan.

‘Wh’s wrong?’ Bofur managed to whisper.

‘I - I need more of a - my legs have gone wobbly...’ Bilbo whimpered.

‘Here... here, let’s - hold onto me, we’ll turn over... get your legs round me...’ It was an awkward roll, and Bofur’s cock slipped out, but he crammed it back in and kissed Bilbo hungrily. ‘Mmph... now I can... there... oh, you’re lovely, you are, you are...’ He set a new stroke, panting against Bilbo’s neck, his hot heavy body blanketing him as his cock surged in and out. Bilbo shook with delight, clutching at Bofur’s back, his legs up and his ankles crossed together. There, and _there,_ and he came in a great shooting rush, a few strokes before Bofur spurted into him and shuddered to a halt.

As they lay catching their breath, gloriously exhausted, Bilbo heard a little grating sound and felt something nudge into his shoulder. He turned his head a little and saw one of Beorn’s dogs, pushing with its snout at a bowl on the floor, which was what had touched him. It contained water and a washcloth. He found himself simultaneously appreciative and so embarrassed that he could have died.

‘Ah. Thank you?’ he said uncertainly.

‘Good dog?’ Bofur added, pushing himself up on one elbow. The dog snuffled slightly and walked away. Bofur lowered his head again, forehead on the floor over Bilbo’s shoulder, and Bilbo could feel him shaking with suppressed laughter. That set him off too, and he had to bite the flap of Bofur’s hat to keep quiet. The feeling of their laughter inside him was so lovely that he had a sort of weak second climax; at any rate, a very sweet relaxing shudder.

‘Stop eating my hat,’ Bofur mumbled. He turned his head under it and kissed Bilbo’s neck, a firm bristly smack.

Bilbo spat out the flap and smiled at him contentedly. ‘Stop squashing me, then.’

‘I want to stay in you for a bit, so can we just roll back?’

‘Mm.’ Bilbo lay splayed on top of Bofur, head on his shoulder, eyes closed, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and belly as they breathed. His bottom was still twitching, gradually tightening again as Bofur’s cock softened. He could feel the warmth of the fireplace on his bare skin, and Bofur was stroking his back with one hand, slowly up and down. ‘Don’t want to go to sleep here, though.’

‘We’ll stay awake. Talk to stay awake,’ Bofur said, yawning. 

‘What about?’

‘Mmph.’

‘What about?’ Bilbo poked Bofur’s cheek with his forefinger.

‘I’m thinking. Tell me about your first time.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Oh yes? First Age, was it?’ Bofur grinned, and Bilbo cuffed him.

‘All right, well, I haven’t told _you_ yet about my Took cousins. They were my playmates when we were children, and when we got a bit older we started messing about in private. First from swimming together I learned about what other boys’ bodies looked like, and how they changed as they grew up; then from playfighting before or after the swimming, I started getting little stiffies - that was our word then... and we sort of learned together how to touch ourselves, and some of us wanted to touch each other too, and if you were quiet and didn’t interrupt, the older boys would let you watch them together.’

‘Doing this?’ Bofur lifted his hips a fraction.

‘Mm. And one day, I remember it was a lovely fine warm day in autumn, I was out scrumping with Valentine and Edegar and Robin Took - they weren’t brothers, there were an awful lot of Tooks. Still are, of course. I was excited to be asked to go with them because they were all a couple of years older than me, and you knew interesting things were going to happen when the big boys started taking notice of you. We filled our caps and pockets with apples from poor old Farmer Maggot’s trees and scurried off to one of our secret hideaways, in the haha at the bottom of Robin’s garden. The grass overhung it, and it was like a long green tunnel, and when it was dry we could put old blankets down and be very comfortable. Are you listening?’

‘Course. You were in the haha with lots of maggoty apples.’

‘Oh, they weren’t maggoty. They were lovely, fresh, ripe pippins, still warm from the sun. Well, Valentine and Edegar were a bit in love just then and couldn’t keep their hands off each other, so we weren’t settled in long before they were kissing and cuddling and sucking each other off. Robin and I were watching them and having a nice little wank, when Robin looked at me and said “Bilbo, how old are you now?” and I said “Twenty in September” and he said -’

‘What’s that in dwarf years?’

‘I’ve no idea. You’re an adult when you’re thirty-three, though. I was still a boy, but I wasn’t a child, put it that way. Robin said, “Lads, I think Bilbo might be ready for bumming” and that got their attention and no mistake.’

‘In mid-suck, eh?’ 

‘Well, Edegar insisted on being finished off, because he never could wait, but then I was the centre of attention. I sort of lay in his lap, and he helped me hold my legs up. They all kept telling me that I was going to love it, but if I didn’t quite love it, if it hurt a bit much or I was uncomfortable at all, I only had to say and they’d stop, or find a better way to do it. They were very kind to me.’

‘So they should be.’

‘And Thorin and Fili and Kili were being just like that the night you saw us - which was kind of them too, but a bit infuriating, as if I were _still_ a boy. Anyway, Edegar held me, and Robin sucked me and fingered me until I was beside myself, and then he just gently eased it in.’

‘What was whatshisname doing?’

‘He was a spectator. When it was first in I had to ask Robin to hold still for quite a while, because it felt so full I was a little bit frightened something would burst if we moved, and I told him we’d have to stop because I was going to pee. He explained that was just because the cock presses on your bladder from behind, though, and it felt better after a little bit. He kept stroking my cock all the while, and when he started to move his, he went very slowly and gently, which was really a marvel of patience... anyway, little by little he worked me up to come so hard a bit went in my mouth. I was exhausted after that so they cleaned me up with their hankies, and then Robin and Valentine cuddled me between them, and Edegar cut up an apple with his pen-knife and fed me the pieces one by one. And when I think about it now, I can still taste that sweet, sharp, juicy apple.’ 

‘I’d definitely feed you an apple if I had one,’ Bofur said fondly. ‘You’ve more than earned it.’

‘Thank you. I try.’ Bilbo folded his hands on Bofur’s chest and rested his chin on them. ‘After that, for a little while I was very, very popular with the older boys, because I was new and everyone wanted to try me. I had a wonderful time, but it was tiring and I didn’t mind when it quietened down.’

‘Made you feel special, though, didn’t it?’

‘Mm. Very.’ Bilbo smiled a little, reminiscent.

‘Do you think you could cope with it again? Because you might have noticed there’s a wee repeating motif here.’

‘Um. That’s a point. I’m not sure my bum is up to it any more.’

‘Felt all right to me.’ Bofur grinned at him.

‘Do you think they’re _all_ going to want to?’ He wondered for a moment if he was asking the right person to reassure him; Bofur could be tactless.

‘Oh, no. I mean, for one thing you can count Gloin out, he’s madly in love with his wife, and that means Oin too, out of solidarity. Dori wouldn’t hear of such a thing, and he’ll keep Ori out of it too because he’s only little. Nori, though, remarked to me in passing that you’ve got an arse like a peach and he’d like to fill it with cream, so you’ve a fan there. Probably not Bifur, because he’s a romantic and he’s got this fairytale in his head where you and Thorin are in true love and there’s nobody else. Bombur’s only got eyes for the ladies, and as far as I know Balin’s never been interested either way.’

‘Um, what about Dwalin?’

‘Are you a bit scared of Dwalin?’

‘A little bit, yes, so don’t start saying things like “think mad wolverine with a prize marrow for a cock”.’

Bofur chuckled. ‘Oh, I was going to say “battering ram”. Or maybe “pile-driver”.’ He rubbed Bilbo’s back briskly and gave his bottom a pat. ‘What d’you say we clean up and try to get a bit of sleep before morning?’

‘Probably a very good idea.’


	4. First Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the previous chapters were a pudding, a picnic and a midnight snack, then I suppose this one is a feast? It's in three courses; here is the first. More to follow, obviously.
> 
> Credit to charlattes for the rather sweet idea of Dwalin greatly admiring Beorn, which I've included in an innocent context because I like it so much.

The ‘Beorn’s Hall’ fragment continues with a more detailed description of events during a day of which the official narrative records only that the company rested and were waited on by Beorn’s animals while both he and Gandalf were absent. It is, perhaps, noteworthy that Bofur is mentioned by name in the opening moments of both versions, but this cannot be taken as proof of anything. 

* * *

 

It was full morning when he awoke, but Thorin was still beside him, and on the other side, nestled in close to share his blankets, was Bofur. Each had an arm slung over him, and the combined effect was quite stiflingly warm. Both dwarves were fast asleep, and he turned his head first to one side, then to the other, thinking how completely different they were. Both were dark-haired and fair-skinned, and there it stopped; Thorin was all sharp chin and cheekbones, with that long pointed nose, while Bofur’s face was made up of amiable curves and creases. Thorin was so handsome he didn’t seem quite real, and Bofur, well, he _liked_ Bofur. One made his heart go pit-a-pat and the other made him laugh.

He eased their arms gently off his body and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Sunshine was streaming in through the hole in the ceiling that served as a chimney, and little motes of dust were dancing in it, looking like flakes of gold. He could see Dwalin and Balin sitting on a bench talking quietly, and Ori happily patting a sheep.

After breakfast on the verandah, there was some discussion of what to do all day. Since there was no sign of either Gandalf or Beorn, it was difficult to make any decision about moving on. Some of the dwarves, chiefly Dori with support from Ori, were still hopeful that Gandalf might change his mind about parting ways. Dwalin was extremely taken with Beorn’s size and power and was pressing Thorin to see if he might be prevailed upon to come with them.

‘With him on our side, we would make mincemeat of Smaug,’ he argued. ‘I know it would mean a smaller share of the treasure for each of us, but think what a comrade he would be.’

‘A very fine comrade for you,’ said Thorin, ‘but I suggest you come back this way after we retake the mountain. I doubt our treasure would tempt him from his home.’

‘I think he cares more about this kind of gold,’ Bilbo said, holding up the slice of bread and honey he was having for an early second breakfast. As long as there was plenty of food around he was determined to make the most of it, even if he was almost sure it was baked by dogs.

‘Why don’t we just take today as a rest day and enjoy it?’ Fili asked. ‘There’s no point worrying about anything else until those two come back.’

‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Dori, ‘about the rest day at any rate. We can mend clothes and so on. I’d rather like to look around the garden here.’

‘I’m sure we can all think of ways to entertain ourselves,’ Fili said, and winked at Bilbo.

‘Very well,’ said Thorin. ‘A rest day it is. Do as you please.’ He rose and went back into the hall.

As he sat on the edge of the verandah, dangling his feet over the flowerbed and eating his bread and honey, Bilbo noticed that Fili and Kili were working their way around the other dwarves and having a brief whispered conversation with each. He thought he had a fair idea of what they were saying, particularly when Dori turned red and started flapping his hands, exclaiming ‘No, no, no, I wouldn’t dream of it!’ and shortly afterwards bustled Ori off to have a look at the dairy. Oin and Gloin harrumphed and went off to take naps in the shade of the trees, and Balin laughed kindly, shook his head and continued to write with a stub of pencil in a small, rather squashed notebook. Bombur had already disappeared to the cookhouse, where he was presumably sharing recipes with the dogs and ponies, while Bifur was talking to the bees, and listening quite as much as he talked.

They came swaggering back towards him, with their thumbs tucked into their belts and looking very pleased with themselves. They had some right to do so, he thought, young and strong and handsome as they were, the sunlight glinting off Fili’s golden hair. They swung themselves up to sit one on each side of him, very close, their knees nudging his.

‘Good morning, Mister Baggins,’ said Kili.

‘Good morning, Master Kili, Master Fili. Haven’t we already said good morning this morning?’

‘Yes, but it’s _such_ a good morning, isn’t it?’ said Fili. ‘Sun shining, little birds singing, the whole day to do as we please. You’ve got a bit of honey smudged on your chin.’ He reached out as if to wipe it away with one finger, but simply held Bilbo’s chin still while he leaned in and licked the drop of honey away. Bilbo felt himself blush, his cheeks growing warm and his lips tingling, and he couldn’t repress a smile.

‘We’ve been canvassing on your behalf,’ said Kili. ‘Is there any honey left for me?’

‘Just a dab,’ said Bilbo. He took a small bite of the bread, taking care to pick up some honey on his upper lip.

‘You really are the best possible burglar,’ said Kili delightedly, and leaned in to gently suck his lip clean. Bilbo’s toes curled and a flush of warmth spread through his belly.

‘I haven’t b-burgled anything yet,’ he managed to say.

‘How can you say that, when you’ve stolen all our hearts?’ Fili asked, with an outrageously flirtatious smile that made Bilbo choke slightly on his bread. ‘Anyway - are you all right? Good - in a few minutes we’re having a party for you.’

‘Well, I think he’ll be having a party for _us,’_ said Kili. ‘He’ll be the host, as it were.’

‘If you mean you’re planning to bum me you could just say so. Where would you like to go?’

‘Oh no, it’s better than that. Finish that and come on.’

They led him back into the hall, which seemed very shady after the bright sunlight outside. After some blinking, he saw that Bofur, Nori and Dwalin were sitting on the edge of the platform where they had all slept, and Thorin was standing nearby. Seeing Bilbo, he extended one hand, palm up, a rather courtly, formal gesture. His expression was very serious, though that was typical for Thorin, and hard to read. Bofur, meanwhile, gave Bilbo a cheery little wave, Nori lifted his braided eyebrows at him, and Dwalin looked... embarrassed, actually.

Feeling anticipatory but also a trifle nervous and embarrassed himself, Bilbo stepped forward and laid his hand on Thorin’s. He thought it looked rather as if they were going to dance. That made him imagine Thorin at a harvest dance in the Shire, taller by a head than everyone else in the set and gravely bowing to his partner, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek in order not to laugh at something he couldn’t explain.

‘Um, what’s this about?’ he asked.

‘The first meeting of the Bilbo Baggins Appreciation Society will come to order,’ declared Fili.

‘Thorin Oakenshield presiding,’ Kili added.

‘Yes, yes,’ grumbled Dwalin impatiently.

‘I believe the phrase is “hear, hear”,’ Bofur said, smiling. Dwalin folded his arms and stared very hard at his boots.

‘The purpose of this meeting,’ Thorin said with a rather quelling look, ‘is to set a few simple rules for the good of all concerned. We share an interest in Mr Baggins.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Kili cheerfully, slinging himself down on the floor to lie jauntily propped on one elbow.

‘And these rules,’ Thorin went on, frowning at Kili, ‘are chiefly in consideration of his wellbeing, and secondly to ensure courtesy between his admirers.’

‘Yes, yes, get on with it,’ Dwalin rumbled.

‘Firstly,’ Thorin said, ‘a daily lottery will be held. The winner of this lottery has gained the right only to _ask_ Mr Baggins for his favours. The decision remains with him, and he must be asked - _nicely_ \- every time. If the request is declined, there is to be no grumbling, whining or otherwise ungentlemanly conduct. If Mr Baggins prefers another partner or wishes only to rest, his preference is paramount.’

‘Then what’s the point of the lottery?’ Nori asked.

‘I think it’s to stop us all pestering him at once,’ Bofur said. 

‘I haven’t pestered him at all yet. Bilbo, have I pestered you?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Nor will you,’ said Thorin firmly. ‘The point is, nobody else will _ask_ Mr Baggins on that day. They will wait for the next draw, and their next chance. If he wishes to _choose_ another partner -’

‘Or partners!’ Kili piped up. Fili put his hand over his brother’s mouth and nodded to Thorin reassuringly.

‘- he may,’ Thorin concluded.

‘If it helps,’ Bilbo offered, ‘I doubt I’d say no unless I was dead tired or feeling sick or something of that sort.’ This got him an enthusiastic, forearm-intensive gesture from the still-muffled Kili and a sort of pleased harrumph from Nori.

 _‘Secondly,’_ Thorin went on, ‘the greatest care is to be taken of Mr Baggins’ person, and his comfort, at all times. Adequate preparation, lubrication, etcetera and so forth. Bear in mind that he is smaller than you, and not nearly so strong.’

‘Well, yes, but I’m not _weak,’_ Bilbo said, bridling a bit. He drew his hand back, just a little, and Thorin closed his fingers over it, holding on.

‘At his particular request,’ Thorin went on, ‘he is to be “kissed and cuddled” before, during and after the act itself.’ This elicited a loud snort from Dwalin.

‘No, no, no - that’s all right. From you, yes, but everyone doesn’t have to. I don’t want kisses out of obligation.’ Bilbo was growing exasperated now.

‘Well, who wouldn’t want to kiss a lovely little fella like you?’ Bofur protested.

‘Hear, hear!’ added Fili and Kili, in unison.

‘Suppose we say that kisses and cuddles are _welcome_ but not _compulsory?’_ Bilbo suggested, hoping to appease Thorin, who was beginning to look thunderous.

‘I won’t have anyone treating you as less than the treasure you are,’ Thorin snapped. ‘If they want a share in you, they’ll pay proper tribute, and that is that.’

‘Well, if my _preference_ is _paramount,_ I think _I_ decide what the proper tribute is,’ Bilbo said, beginning to get up on his dignity. ‘Welcome but not compulsory. And if you didn’t draw the lucky straw, you’re still welcome to watch. And I may want seconds, so you would still be in with a chance. Oh, and you have to take your clothes off properly, because I like being able to see and feel you in the altogether.’

Bofur raised his hand. ‘Can we keep our boots on?’

‘Er, why?’ Bilbo asked, momentarily thrown off course.

Bofur shrugged. ‘Traction.’

‘All right, sounds reasonable.’

‘Hats?’

‘If you’ll be more comfortable that way. Well then. Does that sound all right to everyone?’

There was a general chorus of assent, concluding with Thorin clearing his throat and nodding.

‘We’ve got the lots ready,’ Kili said eagerly, holding up a handful of thin sticks.

‘And this,’ added Fili, holding up a large covered pot. ‘It’s cream made with the grease from sheep’s wool. It took a while to get the dog to understand what I was looking for, but he came up trumps in the end.’

‘Then perhaps you would do the honours,’ Thorin said, taking the lots from Kili and offering them to Bilbo. Showing the dwarvish attention to craft, they weren’t simply broken twigs; they had been shaved smooth and straight, and the end of one carved with the rune Berkanan.

‘B for Bilbo,’ Kili said helpfully.

‘Right then,’ Bilbo said, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t how he had expected to spend his morning, but then, unexpected events were becoming rather routine, and he had a very good chance of enjoying this one. He rolled the lots between his hands to jumble them up well, then gathered them together into one fist, held loosely enough that they could be drawn one by one. He looked round at his admirers with a slightly nervous smile; Thorin, wonderful, Fili and Kili, delightful, Bofur, lovely, Nori, unknown quantity, Dwalin, well, please not Dwalin, at least not the first time, perhaps on a second or third round when he was nicely loosened up and in too much of a state to care much what went into him as long as it was hard. The image of himself in such a state, surrounded by all of them, made his cock perk up even as a nasty thought occurred. ‘But what if Beorn comes back while we’re at it?’

‘Balin’s keeping an eye out, and he’ll stall him if need be. He’s a wonderful staller, is Balin,’ Fili assured him.

‘And I suppose he’ll hoot like some sort of owl?’

‘Of course not. It’s daytime. He’ll whistle like a blackbird. Let’s draw!’ Kili clapped his hands together and bounced up to sit on the edge of the platform by Bofur. 

‘All right. Er - pile in, I suppose.’ Bilbo held out his hand.

Bofur was first to draw, but his lot came up blank. ‘Ah well,’ he said philosophically, ‘there’s always next time.’ He gave Bilbo the merest flutter of a wink, as if to say ‘I had my share last night, anyway.’ Next Dwalin drew, and Bilbo held his breath for a moment until he saw that lot was blank too. He tried not to let the relief show on his face; it wouldn’t be very hospitable. Next went Fili; his was blank, and Kili said kindly ‘Let that stand for me too; I’ll sit this one out.’ That left Thorin, Nori and three lots between them. They briefly exchanged looks, then Nori nodded and let Thorin draw. Up came the angular runic B.

‘Congratulations!’ cried Kili and Fili, while Nori snapped his fingers in frustration. Thorin’s face brightened remarkably, and he laid his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, warm and heavy. 

‘In that case, Bilbo, will you-’

Before he could finish, Bilbo had put both hands to his head, pulled him in and kissed him, twining his fingers around the braids over his ears. His mouth still tasted of honey and butter, and he hoped Thorin appreciated it. Strong arms wrapped around him and squeezed him close, and Thorin’s tongue delved in, making him shiver down to the soles of his feet. Fili and Kili were cheering, and he could hear applause. Thorin made a wonderful sound low down in his throat, a sort of growling sigh, and slid his hands down Bilbo’s back to clutch his bottom and lift him up. He hopped up and wrapped his legs around Thorin’s waist, crossing his ankles at the back. Thorin gave a little grunt as Bilbo’s weight hit him, but bore him up and over to the platform, where he deposited him on the nearest mattress and crawled up over him, covering his face and neck with wolfish kisses.

‘Don’t forget you’ve got to undress,’ Bilbo gasped. He could feel and hear the others climbing onto the platform around them, the boards creaking and blankets rustling under their knees, but his vision was cut off by a curtain of Thorin’s hair falling around their faces, rippling black threaded with silver. 

‘I want to undress _you_ first. Mm?’ Thorin kissed him again, sucking and stretching his lower lip.

‘Mmm...’ Bilbo tipped back his head, offering his neck, and as Thorin laid a trail of wet, sliding kisses down over the tender skin, he rapidly popped the buttons of his shirt, and the brass button of his waistcoat, the sole survivor. Bilbo’s heart was pattering rapidly, a great, delighted smile spreading over his face, and he caught his tingling lip with his teeth. He hadn’t been torn out of his clothes like this in ages, and the roughness of it was exhilarating. One side of his braces snapped free from the buttons as Thorin tugged on his trousers, and the strap flew up and narrowly missed his face. His flies next, the top button tearing off entirely, and Thorin dragged his trousers and drawers down together, off over his feet, and flung them away. He rocked back on his heels, gazing down at Bilbo, stripped bare and flushed and rumpled, his cock rosy-pink up against his little round belly. 

‘Isn’t he _sweet,’_ someone said, and was shushed.

‘Right,’ said Thorin. ‘Let it be known that I keep my side of the bargain.’ He began unbuckling his vambraces. Completely undressing was a long process, with all his armour and warm layers, and as each piece came off and was tossed aside Fili and Kili raised a filial cheer. Bilbo ran one hand down over his tummy and began to fondle his cock, gently and steadily. Once Thorin was down to his shirt and breeches, they began clapping rhythmically. He gave a dismissive snort, but there was a clear flourish in the way he stripped off his shirt and flung it away. Like all the dwarves, he wore thick woollen combinations, but the top half was stripped off quickly enough, and then he was at work on his trousers, yanking at the laces that held them closed. 

As he pushed everything down from his hips and his cock swung free, Bilbo gave a little anticipatory gasp. He’d never, he realised, had a good look at it, in daylight and with nothing in the way. He knew the taste of it better than the look. Such a beauty, with a broad flaring head and a smooth upward curve, still thickening and stiffening. Such a lovely body, all of it, the deep full chest and the hard belly and the powerful arms. He held out his own arms, and Thorin sank into them, gently lowering his weight onto him, gathering him in and kissing him, and there was that feeling he’d wanted, the tickle and bristle and brush of Thorin’s thick warm body hair all over his chest and tummy and thighs. Bilbo wrapped his legs around Thorin’s waist again, wanting to hold him as close as possible, rocking his hips for a little friction. 

Thorin was moving his legs, insistently but awkwardly, and after a moment Bilbo realised he was trying to take his boots off without using his hands, digging at the heel of one with the toe of the other. He thought, for a moment, of offering to help, or letting Thorin get up to do it properly, but it was immeasurably more enjoyable to lie and be covered and stroked and kissed, and to comb his fingers through Thorin’s hair as it once more fell around their faces.

‘Do you want a hand with that?’ Fili asked, bending over them. Bilbo came very close to laughing at his solicitous tone, but held it in.

‘If you’d be so good,’ Thorin said dryly. 

‘Right you are. Kili, get the other side.’ Bilbo could feel the pull on Thorin’s body as they went to work, quickly removing his boots and pants.

‘See, when you’re going to be king, you can have people take your keks off for you,’ he faintly heard Nori say. ‘My oath, he’s got a hairy arse.’

‘Now that’s no way to talk about your king,’ Bofur rejoined.

‘Sorry; my oath, his majesty’s got a hairy arse.’

‘Much better!’

Bilbo felt Thorin tense in irritation and murmured against his lips, ‘Not them, just me.’ He ran his hands down over Thorin’s shoulders and back, both to soothe him and to enjoy the feel of all that burly muscle. As his fingers brushed one of the welts from the links of his armour biting through his clothes, though, Thorin gave a faint grunt of pain, and Bilbo hastily pulled his hands back up to his head. Ah. He’d rather greedily forgotten that Thorin was still stiff and sore. He wasn’t acting like it. But of course, he wouldn’t want to show weakness in front of his men, and he wouldn’t thank Bilbo for behaving as if there was something wrong. He thought he would just have to be careful without letting it show too much.

Kili tapped Thorin on the shoulder. ‘He loves it if you play with his nipples,’ he said helpfully.

Thorin lifted his head and gave him a flat gaze. ‘Do you want to take over?’ he asked.

‘Oh... no...’ Kili faltered.

‘No, really, if you think I’m not coping...’

‘Sorry,’ Kili said, with a sheepish smile.

‘Fili, will you please try to keep your brother occupied? Put your cock in his mouth or something.’

‘What a good idea,’ Bilbo heard Fili say as Thorin returned to kissing him. He moaned gently to encourage him, and twined his arms around his shoulders, which seemed safe. His lips and chin were tingling with the friction of Thorin’s beard and moustache, and the softer hair on Thorin’s belly was tickling his cock desperately. Thorin began to massage his chest, rubbing his nipples lightly with his thumbs and fingertips. He could hear Fili’s little grunts of pleasure, and Kili’s soft slurping; the rhythmic muted slide and slap of hands on cocks; such heavy breathing that either Beorn had come back in the shape of a bear and was snuffling around them, or Dwalin was feeling very susceptible. He felt himself at the centre of all of it.

‘Fuck me,’ he breathed.

‘Mm?’ Thorin looked up from nipping along his jawline.

‘Fuck me, please fuck me.’

‘Mmmm.’ Thorin sucked, then bit Bilbo’s earlobe, the pressure on his nipples tightening to a pinch and making him squirm. ‘I promise I will. Soon.’

‘Pleasepleaseplease.’

‘Was Kili right? You like this?’ Thorin nuzzled down and sucked, looking up from under his brows. Bilbo arched his back, his mouth dropping open and a little wordless squeak emerging. He felt Thorin’s hand brush down over his belly to take possession of his cock.

‘I’m going to come,’ he whimpered.

‘He’s going to come!’ Fili exclaimed. A moment ago he had been sitting comfortably stroking Kili’s hair; he simply grabbed a handful of it to turn Kili’s head to look. 

‘No, no, please, I want you inside me _before_ that, it’s so much better.’ Bilbo pushed at Thorin’s shoulder. ‘Lift up, please.’

‘Very well,’ Thorin said, looking slightly bemused. He rose up on his hands and knees.

‘Just... just need to catch my breath a bit,’ Bilbo said, holding up one shaky hand for time. ‘Oh I... oh.’ He pushed his hair back from his forehead and let out a long breath.

‘He’s not going to faint again, is he?’ Nori muttered to Bofur, who only chuckled.

Thorin lowered himself again, on his elbows, and murmured in Bilbo’s ear ‘All right?’

‘Fine. Only overexcited, and I don’t want to rush, and have it over too fast.’

‘While I’m longing to make up for lost time.’ Thorin rested his forehead against Bilbo’s, brushing their noses together. ‘When I think that I could have had you all this time, how do you think I feel?’

‘Oh, I should imagine you feel very foolish and sorry indeed,’ Bilbo said in a brave but failed attempt at an airy tone. His heart was still thumping, but he thought he was in slightly better command of himself than a minute ago, and he thought he knew what to do next. He pushed Thorin’s shoulders up again. ‘Give me a bit of room.’ He rolled himself over and onto his elbows and knees, lifting his bottom and presenting it to Thorin as he looked back over his shoulder. It was calculated, of course; he wanted to look submissive and passionate and eager and all of that, but he also wanted to make it easy for Thorin to mount him without putting uncomfortable pressure on his own chest or back. ‘Now? Please?’

Thorin bent low over Bilbo’s back, holding his hips, and kissed the nape of his neck with an open mouth, hungrily sucking, very close to a bite. He settled his cock against the cleft of Bilbo’s bum and rocked his hips, sliding it up and down, and Bilbo pressed back against him, shivering. Thorin straightened, dipping his fingers in the jar of lanolin cream, and rubbed his cock, breathing hoarsely.

‘Will I hurt you if I put it right in?’

‘Oh, no... please, _please_ do it!’ Bilbo dropped his head on his folded arms and panted as Thorin bore in. There was a little pain, and there might not have been with slightly more preparation, but he simply couldn’t wait. He had been feeling a ghost of Bofur’s cock inside him, tender spots, and Thorin’s stretched and pressed him in different places as it slipped in. ‘Now hold still... just a moment...’ It was about halfway in, and he gradually rocked his bottom further back on it, nibbling his lower lip. With the whole thick heavy shaft inside him, he had to stop and catch his breath.

‘Look at his face,’ he heard Kili whisper.

‘Can’t see it,’ Fili replied.

‘Look in under his arm - see? Isn’t he _sweet?’_

‘Ah, look at the way his eyebrows squinch up.’ 

‘I love how pink he goes. His face and all down his neck.’

‘Hush, you two. He can’t help his face.’ Thorin was massaging the small of Bilbo’s back, his hands trembling only slightly. It reminded him of the way Fili had kneaded and stroked him, and that made him realise that of course, Fili could have _learned_ that from Thorin. _There_ was a picture. Oh, Thorin was talking to him again. ‘Are you all right, Bilbo?’

‘Ah... yes.’ He lifted his head and looked back over his shoulder. He couldn’t think what his face looked like, but if Fili and Kili liked it perhaps it would please Thorin too. ‘Of course I am.’

‘Then - ah.’ Thorin closed his eyes a moment, then began to move, a slow, deliberate undulation of his hips, sliding his hands up over Bilbo’s back to clutch his shoulders tightly. Bilbo felt the pressure inside him moving, flushes of tingly heat surging along with it, his ring twitching and yielding. He closed his eyes again, his mouth dropping open a little as he breathed deeper. Sweat was breaking out all over his back and thighs, particularly at the back where Thorin’s thighs pressed against them, hard and taut. He grabbed handfuls of the blanket under him and squeezed them tight.

‘Your insides,’ Thorin said, his voice thick and husky, ‘feel like oiled silk. You’re so soft I’m afraid to fuck you as hard as I want to.’

‘Well, if you don’t, I’ll - I’ll never speak to you again.’

‘As you will.’ Thorin increased the pace and force of his stroke gradually, still grasping Bilbo’s shoulders, grunting softly. Bilbo’s panting rose higher and faster, punctuated by little cries of delight as the pressure mounted. He heard Fili and Kili set up a soft, rhythmic clapping, in time with Thorin’s thrusts, getting gradually louder, with the odd call of encouragement. Other hands took up the clapping, with much laughter. Then, to his astonishment, they were _singing_ at him, singing at him being fucked. 

 

_Squeeze him tight and grab his bum!_

_Pinch his cheeks and make them red!_

_That makes Bilbo Baggins come—_

_Throw him down onto the bed!_

 

_Tear his shirt and pinch his tits!_

_Grease your prick and spread his legs!_

_Try your luck, see if it fits!_

_How the little bugger begs!_

 

_Pump your cock in his hobbit hole_

_Pound it up with a thumping pole,_

_See if he can swallow you whole,_

_Something something something ole!_

 

_That makes Bilbo Baggins come!_

_So shoot your spunk right up his bum!_

 

And Bilbo came on the beat. His legs turned to jelly and he slumped down as Thorin pounded him - talk about a thumping pole, he thought dizzily - finally collapsing over him with a groan and a rapid stutter of his hips. Bilbo lay under his hot, sweaty dwarf blanket and sighed in utter, loose-limbed contentment. The others were cheering and laughing and clapping Thorin on the back, and Bilbo on whatever bits of his body stuck out from under Thorin. He felt a smacking kiss on the nape of his neck, and Thorin rolled off him to lie on his back, panting. He turned a flushed face towards Bilbo, with an unguarded, elated smile, his hair draped across his cheek. Bilbo reached over to push it back and ended up bundled up in Thorin’s arms again, being soundly kissed. 

 _‘What_ was that _song?’_ he managed to ask.

‘Not our best work,’ Kili admitted, ‘but not bad given the state we were in.’

‘Were? _Are,’_ said Fili. 

Bilbo lifted his head and blinked at his circle of admirers, at the five eager faces and five proud cocks standing to attention for him. He felt Thorin pat his shoulder and relax beside him. 

‘Er - who would like to give me seconds?’ he asked.


	5. Second Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's another bit! I do hope you'll enjoy it, although I feel I owe an apology to the many Dwalin fans who may feel he isn't sufficiently prominently featured. His day will come; I just need to give him a bit more thought.

They all glanced at each other, then all began to clamour at once.

‘All right! Shush! If you can’t be sensible there’ll be none for any of you.’ Bilbo heaved himself into a sitting position, trying to gain some command of the situation. He looked to Thorin for some sort of assistance or authority, but he was just watching, smiling faintly, his hands folded behind his head.

‘Since we _all_ want to, _you_ choose,’ Bofur suggested. ‘Sensible enough?’

‘All right,’ Bilbo said, giving it careful consideration. ‘Well, since you only just missed out in the lottery, Nori, would you like to be next?’ That was calculated, too; the unknown quantity now, and if he didn’t especially enjoy him he had his lovely Fili, Kili and Bofur in reserve. Besides, Nori looked quite chuffed to be chosen, and that was highly flattering. Like the others, he seemed to have undressed while Bilbo was occupied with Thorin, although he evidently agreed with Bofur about the retention of boots. The hair of his body was browner than the hair of his head, the colour deepening the lower it went, until the thick curls clustering from his lower belly downward were a dark auburn. Below that, another glorious cock, this one with a downward curve even while erect. The dwarves seemed to be wonderfully varied in this department.

‘Go on, then,’ Bofur said, clapping Nori on the back. He crawled forward, his cock swinging under his belly, while Fili and Kili applauded and whistled.

‘If you’d like a little rest first,’ Nori said hesitantly. ‘I mean, there’s no rush.’

‘No need at all.’ Bilbo took hold of the centre braid of Nori’s beard and pulled him in for a kiss. This got him pushed straight onto his back and very roughly and thoroughly snogged; that was really the only word for it. Nori grunted and growled and slurped, and Bilbo couldn’t suppress a gurgle of laughter, even as he threw one arm around his neck and hugged him tight. With his free hand, he reached down between them to stroke Nori’s cock, finding it warm and oily, a surprising amound of liquid leaking from the tip. 

Nori groaned and thrust into his hand, fumbling down under Bilbo’s balls to cram two, then three fingers into his well-stretched ring. Bilbo felt just a moment of embarrassment at how slippery and messy he was, before it melted into pleasure and a certain pride at being full of Thorin’s spunk. He spread his legs wider and lifted his hips, digging his heels into the mattress and curling his toes as he panted against Nori’s beard.

‘Feels as if I could slip it right in,’ Nori breathed.

‘Mmm...’ 

‘D’you want me to?’

‘Oh... not yet... here...’ Bilbo pushed Nori onto his side, scooting himself down beside him. He curled his hands around the shaft of his cock and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head, gazing up steadily. Nori shivered, and a cheer went up from Fili and Kili. As he sucked it in, Nori’s hands settled on his head, not quite pushing, but stroking, tangling his fingers in the curls. Bilbo’s mouth filled with the strong taste of salt, cut with an odd sweetness, more than he was used to, and he lathered his tongue against the tender, meaty head, trying to coax more out, hollowing his cheeks with suction. Nori gave a hoarse, barking cry, his hips jerked violently and a stream of come burst into Bilbo’s mouth, strong and bitter, another as he pulled his head back, spattering his nose and cheeks, another, weaker, draping over his forehead as he gasped in surprise.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Nori groaned. ‘It’s - it’s been too long - and I wasn’t ready for you to - oh...’ He slumped on his back, his cock flopping back against his belly, still twitching and weakly dribbling. 

‘Never mind how fast it was, I’m impressed at how _much_ there was,’ Kili said with something of the air of an aficionado. ‘Is that about normal for you?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Nori, sounding mollified.

‘Handkerchief,’ Bilbo said, his eyes screwed shut. It was thick stuff, and his eyebrows were damming it for now, but he had no wish to get any in his eyes.  ‘Handkerchief?’

‘Oop! Sorry. Here we are.’ Bofur dug in the pocket of Bilbo’s discarded trousers, found the rag that did service as a hankie and gently wiped his face. ‘Now is that what you thought you’d be using it for?’

‘Not _quite,’_ Bilbo admitted, smiling. He took hold of Bofur’s plaits and drew him down for a kiss. ‘I do like how you’ve all got _handles._ Oh! You don’t mind kissing me after -’

‘Don’t give a damn,’ Bofur said happily, wrapping him up in his arms.

‘Nothing wrong with a faceful, anyway,’ said Fili. ‘That’s how we got Kili’s beard to grow.’

‘You what?’ Nori asked, lifting his head.

‘Well, it wouldn’t grow-’

‘You don’t need to tell this story,’ Kili objected.

‘He just had some baby-fluff on his cheeks,’ Fili went on, pinching Kili’s cheek affectionately, ‘and he was getting desperate and rubbing all sorts of stuff on his face, and I said, well, what’s more manly than come? That ought to get it started. It took a few weeks, but you can see it’s worked a treat.’

‘I think it was just ready to start on its own,’ Kili said. ‘I was humouring you.’

‘We’ll have to see if Bilbo grows one now.’

‘I don’t want him to,’ Bofur objected. ‘I like his face all soft like it is.’ He rubbed his cheek against Bilbo’s and gave it a peck.

‘He’s not to grow a beard,’ Thorin said, dispelling the impression that he had been fast asleep for some time by rolling over and sitting up. ‘It would make him too ordinary.’

‘I appreciate everybody’s concern,’ Bilbo said, ‘but it would be an unnatural miracle if I were to grow a beard, and I don’t want all the inconvenience of taking care of it.’ He tweaked out the cord tying the end of one of Bofur’s plaits and combed his fingers through it, unravelling.

‘Now you’re just dishevelling me.’ A long, deep, whiskery kiss, the loose hair falling down against Bilbo’s shoulder and tickling. ‘D’you want to...’ Bofur slid his hand along the underside of Bilbo’s thigh, lifting it.

‘Mmm...’ Bilbo sighed contentedly as Bofur hoisted up his legs and entered him, bending low over his body. Under the flap of his hat, he murmured ‘Welcome back.’ That got him an appreciative moan and a slow, deep, grinding thrust. ‘Oooh...’ He was sorry he hadn’t found out this time how Nori’s cock would feel inside him, but it was very, _very_ nice to have a second visit from Bofur’s, smooth and hard, gently squishing as it stroked in and out. Forehead to forehead, soft messy kisses, Bofur’s bright, merry eyes catching his. His cock was plumping up again, far sooner than he would have expected, and the sensation was growing more intense, the pressure at the root of it and in that sweet tender spot that sent trembly pulses up his spine. He wanted nothing more than to be held and kissed and petted and fucked like this forever.

He wasn’t quite ready to come when Bofur finished, but since Nori announced that he had quite recovered and was ready to give a better account of himself, it mattered very little.

‘I’m told it feels best from behind,’ he said, and gave Bilbo the full benefit of it at some length until he sprayed the blankets under him, then painted his back with another startlingly copious ejaculation. 

‘That’s enough now,’ Thorin said, looking askance at the approving slap on Bilbo’s bottom with which Nori dismounted.

‘No it’s not,’ Bilbo protested. ‘It’s not. I’m doing six, I’ve decided. I know I can do six.’ He pushed himself up on trembling arms and sat like a frog, his legs bent and splayed, catching his breath.

‘You don’t have to force yourself,’ Thorin said quietly, brushing Bilbo’s sweat-damp hair back from his forehead.

‘I’m not. I don’t think you realise how good I feel. And I’m going to feel awful tomorrow whether I stop now or go on, so I’m going on,’ he added, though he wasn’t sure whether that was the practical Baggins or the randy Took talking. ‘Besides, I think I’m ready for Dwalin! You wouldn’t want him to miss out, would you?’

‘You would not,’ Dwalin said emphatically, laying one massive hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

It was nothing like as difficult as he had imagined; and on reflection, if he could take Fili and Kili together, of course he could take Dwalin, intimidating as his mighty tumescence was. Besides the sense of achievement there was the entirely new experience of being bodily picked up, lowered onto Dwalin’s cock and pumped up and down as if he weighed next to nothing. There were no kisses, and he hadn’t really expected them, but Dwalin laid him down again very gently, and rumbled in his ear, ‘Thank you, lad, well worth the wait.’

‘Right,’ he said, raising himself on his elbows. ‘Fili and Kili next.’ However, they were sound asleep, curled up together amid the crumpled blankets with beads of come drying in their beards.

‘I’m afraid they got impatient while you were occupied and finished each other off,’ Thorin said. He was sitting at Bilbo’s side, smoking his pipe. Nearby, Nori and Bofur had stretched out and nodded off, and Dwalin was composing himself to do likewise. The air in the hall felt hot and close, heavy with the smells of sweat and spunk.

‘Well, that’s hardly fair,’ Bilbo said, although he was feeling quite weak. ‘What about my six? My Midsummer record?’

‘If you’re prepared to count seconds, I might help you up to five,’ Thorin suggested mildly. ‘Would that be too much of a compromise?’

‘It wouldn’t truly _count,_ but it would be _nice._ Still, I’m not up to anything very energetic now.’

‘Fortunately, nor am I. Come, Mr Baggins.’ Thorin extinguished his pipe and lay down beside him, gathering him back into his arms, the two of them nested like spoons in a drawer. ‘Now would be the time for your seductive wriggling.’ 

‘Like this?’

‘Just like this.’ Thorin ran his hand down Bilbo’s side to his hip, then trailed it back up, his nails lightly brushing and making his skin twitch and tingle. After such a heavy pounding as he’d had, it felt strange and sweet to be so delicately handled. He tipped back his head, lazily rolling his bottom, feeling Thorin’s cock thicken, beginning to press and prod against him. ‘Bilbo,’ Thorin said thoughtfully.

‘Mmm?’ Bilbo took hold of Thorin’s hand and lifted it to his chest, pressing where he wanted to be rubbed. 

‘When you were with Bofur, you seemed very comfortable. As if you had had him before.’ Thorin traced ticklish fingertip circles around Bilbo’s nipples.

‘Mm, I had.’

‘When?’ Thorin’s voice was gentle, but he could not sound unconcerned.

‘Last night. I woke up to go to the loo, and when I came back he was awake too. We shared a pipe and had a chat and one thing led to another. That’s all right, isn’t it?’

‘Quite all right.’ Thorin pressed one of his bristly kisses into the soft side of Bilbo’s neck, the pale skin thoroughly dappled by now with red beard-rash and purple love-bites. ‘No jealousy here, merely a little bit of envy.’

‘It was before we started the lottery properly, anyway. Ooh...’ Bilbo nibbled at his lip as Thorin rolled his nipples between thumb and forefinger, slightly stretching them, drawing them forward.

‘You’d like to continue with that, then? We can stop if you ever tire of it.’

‘Do you think I’m _very_ likely to tire of loads of big strong handsome dwarves making love to me? All... ahh... all those lovely big cocks saying “at your service”?’

‘At your service,’ Thorin murmured, sliding his hand down over Bilbo’s tummy and giving his cock an affectionate squeeze. ‘Always and ever at your service.’

‘Oh... oh it’s... it’s not just taking all of you, it’s - I haven’t come this many times in succession in years!’ Bilbo squirmed, grinding his bottom against Thorin’s cock, and groaned joyfully as he slid it in.

‘You feel quite different now... loose and soft and wet...’

‘Is it any wonder?’

‘I did... did worry about you a little... with Dwalin... you made him very happy, you know.’ Thorin sighed, slowly rocking his hips, massaging Bilbo’s growing erection. ‘It’s rare for him to find a partner who can take him. He gets embarrassed.’

‘I think if he draws the lucky straw, we’ll just have to get a volunteer to go in ahead of him. Stretch me out.’

‘You’re just greedy.’

‘I would let you do it.’

‘Excellent idea.’ Thorin gradually quickened the stroke of his hand and his hips together. The motion was still gentle, almost lazy, but there was a little more purpose in it. ‘I would be pleased and proud to prime the pump. I think, though... I think you and I are a good fit.’

‘A finger in a glove?’ Bilbo asked, his voice shaking a little. 

‘Mmm... made for me.’ A wet, sucking kiss on his shoulder, and Thorin’s hips began to move more rapidly. ‘Good?’

‘Ohh...’ Bilbo was quivering, his heart pounding and pulses throbbing in his bottom and his cock. He arched back against Thorin as an ecstatic shudder ran through him and a last weak little squirt of spunk escaped. Thorin’s orgasm was much more forceful, a crescendo of thrusts and grunts climaxing in a convulsive hug that made Bilbo’s ribs creak.

They lay drowsing together, Thorin idly stroking Bilbo’s chest with one thumb, until they slipped into sleep still snugly connected.

Bilbo could still feel the tip of his cock nestled there when he woke, though by now his ring was full of a dull ache, and he knew he was paying for his feast. What woke him, though, was a hand patting his shoulder. As he opened his eyes, he found Bofur leaning close to him.

‘All right, pet?’ Bofur asked. ‘Sorry to disturb your beauty rest, only there’s a dog here with washbasins and flannels, and a pony who wants to give us all a cup of tea and a biscuit.’

Bilbo blinked, rubbing his eyes. ‘What kind of biscuit?’

‘Shortbread.’

‘Ooh, lovely.’

 

The following morning, they were very busy with preparations for the journey to Mirkwood, but Bilbo was pleasantly perplexed by the many little attentions shown to him by his circle of admirers. They could hardly be courting him, since he was already entirely won over; perhaps they meant it more as a way of thanking him. Bofur presented him with a new pipe, beautifully carved with leafy vines curled around the bowl and the stem, and a little pouch containing half his own supply of pipeweed. Fili and Kili, besides their usual affectionate behaviour, patting or stroking or pinching him every time they passed, gave him a new set of buttons for his waistcoat, not so impressive as the shiny brass ones he had lost, but very handily fashioned out of bone that they must have begged from Beorn’s dogs. Each one was marked by two interlocked Bs, and they stitched them on for him in a trice, as well as sewing on the trouser button Thorin had torn off him.

Nori sidled over to him and proffered a small jar of ointment. ‘Nicked this from Dori,’ he said. ‘I think it’ll make your arse feel better. I know he uses it on his piles.’

‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, rather hoping that he wasn’t earning Dori’s enmity by accepting it, ‘thank you very much.’ Whatever it was, the ointment proved wonderfully soothing and cooling, and while he still felt a little concerned at the prospect of riding a pony again, at least he thought he would be able to sit in the saddle, rather than having to lie on his belly slung over it like a bundle. Nori was not the only one to try to anticipate his needs in this respect. As they saddled the ponies, and Bilbo was attempting to make friends with his one by feeding him a carrot, Dwalin brusquely presented him with an odd article, a ring-shaped cushion which he had cobbled together from pieces of a worn-out blanket, stuffed with raw wool.

‘It’s not perfect,’ he rumbled, ‘but it ought to help.’

‘Thank you! Thank you very much. Everybody is so kind. You must have been busy while I was napping yesterday.’

‘No need for a fuss,’ Dwalin said, and stamped off.

Bilbo was just coming back from a final visit to the lavatory when he bumped into Ori, who shyly presented him with a slightly wilted nosegay of flowers.

‘Oh,’ he said, very much surprised. ‘Well, thank you. That’s very swee-’

Before he could finish, Dori had darted in between them and was bundling Ori away, sputtering over his shoulder ‘I mean no offence, Mr Baggins, but he’s entirely too young for this sort of thing!’ As they disappeared around a corner, Bilbo could hear Ori protesting ‘But isn’t it his birthday? Everyone’s giving him presents!’

He wore the nosegay in his buttonhole for the rest of the day.


	6. Delightful and Satisfactory

Still another fragment has been found, this time by conservators working on the Moria Cultural Reclamation Project. The relevant papers were among many in the sacked Great Library, which had been torn from their bindings and strewn over the floor, then used as bedding by the invading orcs and goblins. The separation of the thick, almost composted layers, crusted by the effluvia of the horde, and the restoration and interpretation of their contents, is the painstaking life’s work of many gifted and dedicated Dwarvish historians. Dr Feri Norisson, who found, collated and restored these pages before forwarding them to the Mathom-House, commented that ‘it was a bit of light relief from the usual. Parts of it had me in fits.’ Dr Norisson considers the text an obvious fabrication.

The narrative resumes with the arrival of Thorin and Company at their lodgings in Lake-town, and expands upon the following passage considerably.

_They were all doctored and fed and housed and pampered in the most delightful and satisfactory fashion. A large house was given up to Thorin and his company; boats and rowers were put at their service; and crowds sat outside and sang songs all day, or cheered if any dwarf showed so much as his nose._

 

They were conducted into the fine house which had been hastily arranged for them. It was the property of a merchant who was presently away on a purchasing journey, and they were assured that he would not mind their using it, as he kept a great many more rooms than he needed purely for entertaining, and would surely wish to offer hospitality to such eminent visitors to Lake-town.

The first thing they saw as they entered the front hall was a table against the wall bearing a large bowl full of glossy red, green and yellow apples, which made Fili turn rather pale and run straight up the staircase towards the bedrooms. Kili followed him, laughing, and the rest of the dwarves made their way up the stairs with much groaning and clutching at their sore joints, Bilbo bringing up the rear after remembering (which none of them did) to thank the Master’s servant who had brought them there. 

Upstairs he found four large bedrooms, one with one very large bed in it, the others with several beds each, still of generous size, made up with crisp white sheets, fluffy down pillows, thick quilts and richly coloured and embroidered counterpanes. He was in a better state than the dwarves, who had flung themselves face down on the nearest beds they could find and were lying there feebly grizzling, but he felt quite weak and exhausted at the sight of such comfortable bedding. Nevertheless, he pulled at the leg of the nearest dwarf, who happened to be Ori, and attempted to rouse him.

‘Come on, now. You can’t go to sleep like that. You’re all still soggy on the inside. You must have hot baths and change or you’ll all get terrible colds.’

There was a loud chorus of complaint and nay-saying.

‘He’s right, though,’ Dori said wearily. ‘Ori. Get up and go and have a bath.’

‘I can’t move,’ Ori whined, ‘and I’ve had enough of being wet for the rest of my life.’

‘Come on,’ Bilbo said heartily, trying the next dwarf, Dwalin, who growled and swiped at him with his knuckledusters. He clapped his hands together briskly. ‘You’ll all feel better, you wait and see.’

After a great deal of coaxing, and being spoken to very rudely, he managed to persuade them, and they trooped downstairs again to soak in great steaming tubs filled for them by further servants. There would not have been the faintest interest in anything of a lottery nature that night, but at least they all went to bed clean, warm and dry, and that was a great pleasure in and of itself. Bilbo had a bed all to himself, and slept diagonally just because he could. 

When they woke in the morning, he was the only one with a cold.

‘It’s dot fair,’ he whimpered. ‘By head aches ad by froat hurts ad I was the one who bade _you_ bathe!’

‘You’re in the right place for it, though,’ Bofur pointed out. He was sitting up in his own bed, smoking and looking considerably more cheerful for a good night’s rest. ‘Think how much worse it would be to have a streaming cold in the middle of nowhere.’

‘I dow,’ Bilbo snuffled, ‘but it doesd’t bake be _feel_ ady better.’

The Master of Lake-town’s own doctor came to see them that day, and treated their many scrapes, bruises, aches and pains. He examined Bilbo and prescribed a tonic, which, after the doctor had left, Oin tasted, spat out, and pronounced ‘mimsy wee-wee.’ He went down to the kitchen, despite complaining every step of the way about how much his back hurt, and prepared a very strong, garlicky chicken soup, which Bilbo readily admitted tasted far nicer than the tonic and comforted his sore throat as well. This was followed by many cups of strong tea with honey. Bofur brought him a great pile of fine cambric handkerchiefs that he had procured from somewhere, with the promise that he would bring clean ones as fast as Bilbo could ‘snot them up.’

Most of the dwarves spent the day in bed, alternately sleeping and idly chatting, until it was time to rise and go to a dinner held in their honour by the Master. Bilbo felt very little like going anywhere, but went out of politeness, and finished the evening nodding off with his head against Dwalin’s beefy shoulder. Dwalin carried him home slung over the same shoulder, and he half-woke to find himself being put to bed in his clothes.

‘G’nigh’kiss,’ he mumbled.

‘Daft bugger,’ Dwalin growled, and gave him a hasty peck on the forehead before tucking him in so tightly that he had to struggle to get one arm out of the covers to curl under the pillow.

The next day his cold was worse, and he was excused politeness and stayed in his bed. Oin made a mustard plaster for his chest which made him feel like a slice of roast beef, and Ori very kindly sat beside him reading aloud from a book of local legends that he had found in the house’s library. 

By the time Bilbo was feeling more himself, the dwarves had almost entirely recovered from their journey by barrel and were inclined to enjoy themselves. There was a great deal of drinking, eating, drumming and singing until all hours of the night. Bilbo had to plead tiredness, and was called a piker and a wet blanket. Since both the shared bedrooms were occupied - in one, Fili, Kili and Ori were playing a spirited game of The Floor is Made of Lava, jumping from bed to bed, and in the other Gloin was doing something complicated to his brother’s spine - he crept into Thorin’s bed, and was sound asleep there when Thorin got in and accidentally sat on him.

‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ said Thorin, once he had got over his alarm and apologised to Bilbo for squashing him. ‘I was beginning to wonder if we would ever be in bed together again.’

‘We haven’t had a good chance in ages.’

‘And I didn’t want to trouble you when you were feeling ill.’ Thorin leaned over and re-lit the lamp he had carried to bed with him, moving it so that he could see Bilbo better. 

‘And this time it’s a _proper_ bed,’ Bilbo said, feeling a pleasant anticipatory flutter in his stomach. ‘I’m still very grateful to Beorn, but look how much nicer this is.’

‘Nicer still with you waiting for me.’ Thorin leaned over Bilbo, his hair falling forward to trail against his shoulder. The lamplight lent a glow to his eyes, and his skin looked golden. He had climbed into bed naked, while Bilbo was wearing a nightshirt that he suspected had been made for a child. The clothing available in Lake-town was really not cut for hobbits, or dwarves for that matter.

‘I wasn’t actually waiting for you,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘I was just looking for a quiet place to go to sleep.’

‘If you would rather sleep...’

‘Oh, no, no. I’ve had a little sleep now, anyway, I shall be quite all right.’

‘Good.’ Thorin covered him, his forearms either side of Bilbo’s head, and kissed him softly, his tongue slipping deep into his mouth and tasting of pipesmoke and wine. ‘My _dear_ Mr Baggins.’

‘You didn’t think I was very dear when you rolled out of your barrel.’

‘You hate everyone when you’ve been down a river in a barrel. It was hardly personal.’

‘Oh?’

‘Everyone hated you then. But see how fond of you I am now.’ Another tender kiss. ‘You spoke to me pretty sharply, too.’

‘Because you were so ungrateful.’

‘Now, upon reflection, I am deeply and properly grateful. How shall I express my gratitude? Covering you with gold will have to wait.’

‘Cover me with kisses, and that will do for now.’

‘I think I’ll uncover you first.’ Thorin lifted himself up on his knees, reached down between them and drew Bilbo’s nightshirt up over his belly. ‘You’ve lost flesh. We must feed you more. What was it Beorn said? Little bunny, growing nice and fat on bread and honey?’ He bent and kissed Bilbo’s chest, just over the breastbone.

‘I thought that was very rude of him,’ Bilbo said, more firmly than he felt. ‘Calling me a _rabbit.’_

‘You do live in a burrow.’ Another kiss, softer and wetter.

‘Don’t you call the beautiful cosy home my father built a burrow. I - I bet Erebor’s just a very _big_ burrow.’

‘I very much look forward to showing you that big burrow. The look on your face will be something to treasure.’

‘Is it as beautiful as Rivendell?’ Bilbo asked wistfully.

‘You cannot even compare them. You have never seen anything even a little like it, Bilbo. In my dreams, I walk once more through its galleries...’ Thorin trailed off. ‘I hate to think of the state it may be in now.’

‘Then don’t think of it. There’s time enough for that when we go, and we’re not ready to do that, are we? We need to rest up and get well and - well, fattening me sounds a bit strange but if it would keep you occupied...’

‘I don’t need you to be fat,’ Thorin said, distracted into smiling, ‘but I like you plump and soft, just as you were to begin with.’

‘Like a rabbit? No, like a _grocer.’_

‘If you were a grocer I would patronise your shop before all others, even if you gave short weight and your apples were always bruised.’ Thorin kissed a fading bruise over Bilbo’s ribs, still quite adequately covered, though his belly was flatter than before.

‘Could I have a By Royal Appointment sign to hang on the door?’

‘You could have whatever you wanted, Mr Baggins. Rings for your fingers and bells for your toes.’ Thorin nuzzled down over Bilbo’s tummy, his moustache prickling and lips sucking.

‘They... ooh... they won’t be necessary.’ Bilbo squirmed his bottom into a more comfortable position and pulled his nightshirt off over his head. He was delighted by the cosiness of this, the soft bedding, the warm light of the lamp, the fact that he had had a good hot bath that evening and felt particularly clean and kissable. It was very nearly as nice as his own bed at home would have been. ‘Will you suck me, though?’

Thorin looked up at him from under his eyebrows. ‘Do you think the King Under the Mountain sucks cocks?’

‘I’m only asking him to suck one.’

‘Very well said.’ Thorin wrapped his hand around Bilbo’s cock, drawing it up with a light stroke. ‘Perhaps we could put a ring around this.’

‘Lips would be perfectly acceptable.’ He found he rather wanted Thorin to get off the subject of rings.

‘I trust you are sensible of the honour,’ Thorin said, and kissed the tip, peeping out of its soft foreskin as it stiffened. 

‘Oh... very...’ Bilbo sank back against the pillows, his eyelids fluttering closed. He ran his hands lightly over his own belly and chest, sighing as Thorin’s warm lips sealed around his cock and he felt the first surge of suction. Heat and pleasure shot down to the root of it and blossomed out into his belly, followed by a glorious sliding sensation, up and down. ‘I am very honoured and pleased and proud and oh... oh, that’s lovely. Will you mind if I come in your mouth?’

‘Not yet, surely,’ Thorin said, lifting his head.

‘Oh, no, no, I just wanted to ask in plenty of time.’ Bilbo could not help staring at Thorin’s mouth, his lips wet and rosy from friction. He was already regretting asking a question that required him to speak. Still, he really ought to ask; it seemed necessary for Thorin, though he wouldn’t have thought twice about it with Fili or Kili. Fili _and_ Kili; he couldn’t quite imagine doing anything with Fili _or_ Kili. Thorin seemed to be considering it, frowning.

‘You may, but say something first. I don’t like to be surprised, or choked.’

‘No, of course, I promise... oh, thank you...’ Bilb’s breathing quickened and fluttered as Thorin’s mouth returned to his cock, giving it a slow, thorough polishing with his tongue, suckling up and down, sliding along its sides, one hand cradling his balls. He continued to rub his own chest and belly with one hand, but slid the other down to gratefully stroke Thorin’s hair. He was beginning to babble, his voice shaking. ‘Thank you, thank you Thorin, I love that, I do, oh, you _are_ so good to me!’

‘I’ll be better to you in a moment,’ Thorin said, drawing back and wiping his mouth on his forearm. Rising on his hands and knees, he reached under the pillows and pulled out a jar. Opening the lid, he dipped his first two fingers in and drew them out glistening with oil. 

‘What have you been doing with that all by yourself?’ Bilbo asked, beaming.  

‘Waiting for you to get over your cold and masturbating furiously,’ Thorin grunted. He backed down the bed and nestled in between Bilbo’s splayed legs, sucking him in again and nudging his slick fingers in under his balls. He slowly worked them into his bottom, drawing hoarse little groans from Bilbo.

‘Oh... oh! Will you - twirl it round, make a - just like that! Circle, circle! Ohhhh...’ His buttocks were twitching frantically, and he could feel flutters spreading through the muscles of his thighs and his tummy. The pleasure was mounting so quickly that he had just time to squeak out ‘I’m coming, I’m coming _now.’_ Thorin breathed in sharply and gulped as Bilbo shook in delight, sweet sharp squeezes wringing the spunk out of him. He lay sprawling, his heart pounding and his head swirling, his flushed face shining with sweat and joy.

Thorin kept his fingers wedged in Bilbo’s twitching cleft, but lifted himself up to lie beside him, softly kissing his temple and his cheek. ‘The penalty for coming in my mouth,’ he murmured, ‘is that you’ll taste it next time you kiss me.’

Bilbo turned his head and kissed him soundly. ‘I don’t taste all _that_ bad,’ he said. 

‘Not all that bad,’ Thorin agreed, and nipped his lower lip. ‘Now... I didn’t mind if you came in my mouth... will you mind if I fuck you before you’re hard again?’

‘Oh, no, no, I don’t need to be hard to enjoy it. It feels wonderful either way.’

‘You have a wonderfully accommodating body, dear Bilbo.’

‘I can accommodate just about anything if you give me enough notice.’

‘I know. Six!’ Thorin crooked and turned his fingers, nudging a whimper out of Bilbo. ‘But tonight, just me, please.’

‘Mmm...’ Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s shoulders as he covered him, raised on his knees and one elbow. ‘Sometimes it also helps to give me very strong cider. That was - that was instrumental to my success.’

‘Let me...’ Thorin drew out his fingers and applied oil to his cock, breathing heavily now. He bent and kissed Bilbo, deeply and wetly, their tongues churning together, and pressed his legs up and back, pushing his knees almost to his shoulders. ‘Now?’

‘Now.’ Thorin entered him slowly, bearing in with steady pressure, filling him inch by inch. 

‘Ohhhh... oh Bilbo...’ He ground his hips slowly around, making Bilbo gasp and shiver. ‘My little... ahhh...’

Bilbo combed his fingers into Thorin’s hair, his lips parted, begging for a kiss. 

‘Mmm... little bunny,’ Thorin murmured, smiling, with a slow, rolling thrust.

‘I am _not.’_

‘Sweet little bunny.’ 

‘If you keep - ah! - if you keep saying that I’ll, I’ll take my bum and go home.’

‘I don’t think you will.’ Thorin kissed him, deep and hard, sucking and stretching his lower lip before releasing it. ‘You _love_ being fucked.’

‘I - I - aah...’ 

‘What would you have me call you? Mm? My darling? My precious?’

‘No... no... oh, please, faster!’

‘My burglar!’ Thorin’s hips shuddered and he began to pump rapidly, the force of his stroke banging the headboard against the wall and driving little elated squeaks and grunts out of Bilbo. His thighs clapped and slapped against Bilbo’s bottom, in time with his harsh breathing, and Bilbo’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulling sharply. That seemed to drive Thorin on, faster and harder, his cock drubbing Bilbo’s depths. ‘My - oh!’ He tensed and shivered, a look of rapture on his face, and slumped down, panting. 

Bilbo wrapped his legs around Thorin’s waist, his arms around his shoulders, and lay stroking his heaving back. 

‘Will you mind if I go to sleep here?’ Thorin asked, sounding muffled. 

_‘Yes.’_

‘Ah... all right.’ He began to lift himself up, but Bilbo held on.

‘You can stay for a little while. It’s nice to have a dwarf blanket for a _little_ while.’

‘Ah.’ Thorin settled again, nuzzling Bilbo’s cheek. 

‘A hairy sweaty heavy dwarf blanket,’ Bilbo said fondly. 

‘You _pulled_ my hair.’

‘It wasn’t entirely on purpose.’

‘I didn’t entirely mind.’ Thorin lifted himself a little on his elbows, and brushed Bilbo’s hair off his forehead. ‘Why do you keep yours so short?’

‘It’s just what hobbits do. Besides, it’s comfortable. It dries quickly after I wash it, and all I have to do is run a brush through it and it looks all right. _Long_ hair is for ladies.’

_‘I_ am like a lady?’ Thorin asked, with a slow-dawning, astonished smile.

‘Well, no, _you’re_ not, not at all.’

‘Aren’t I? With this long hair?’ He shook his head, the loose ends of his hair tickling Bilbo’s face and shoulders. 

‘And this _beard_ and this _cock.’_ Bilbo wriggled his hips to support his point. 

‘I didn’t realise all the hobbit-men cut their hair short. Strange idea.’ He curled a strand of Bilbo’s hair around his forefinger. 

‘Well, I’ve told you why it’s so sensible and convenient.’ Bilbo sighed, reluctantly. ‘Can you get off now? I really must pee.’

‘Pot’s under the bed,’ Thorin said, easing off him with a soft grunt. He took the opportunity to clean himself up a little at the washstand, although there was only cold water in the jug. 

‘D’you know what I think’s amazing?’ Bilbo said, pushing the chamberpot back under the bed. ‘This oil hasn’t spilled.’

‘That was undeserved luck,’ Thorin replied, crossing over and replacing the lid. 

‘I’d feel awfully sorry for whoever had to wash the sheets. There’s an oily spot as it is, but they would have been soaked.’ He clambered back into bed, helped by the stool that someone had thoughtfully left beside the rather high bedstead, and curled up comfortably.

‘You’re very domestic, aren’t you?’ Thorin asked, getting in beside him and pulling up the covers as he nestled up to Bilbo’s back.

‘I told you why, didn’t I? I did, I’m sure.’ 

‘That’s right. I only mean - it’s admirable.’ He wrapped his arm over Bilbo’s body, his hand settling into the spot on his chest where it was becoming accustomed to rest, the thumb stroking. 

‘I’m not domestic enough to volunteer to wash the sheets,’ Bilbo admitted, smiling to himself. ‘To tell you the truth I’ve got a washerwoman. Mrs Gamgee does a very good job.’ He felt Thorin’s lips against the nape of his neck. ‘You’re developing favourite spots, aren’t you.’

‘Mmm...’ It was a drowsy sigh, and Bilbo felt a little twinge of warmth in his chest. ‘Before we sleep... is there anything more I could do for you? So that you go to sleep happy?’

‘May I be really greedy?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Sing to me.’

‘What shall I sing?’

‘Your Misty Mountains song. The first one I heard you sing. And it frightened me, but it made me want to get up and follow you across the wide world.’

‘Ah,’ Thorin said, and there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. He breathed in deeply, his chest brushing against Bilbo’s back, and in a low, deep voice, began to sing. It was a sonorous buzz, like the drowsing of Beorn’s great bees over the flowers, and though he was singing of mountains cold and caverns old, it made Bilbo feel warmed all the way through. He fell asleep with it in his ears, and his dreams were strange but sweet.

 


	7. Delightful and Satisfactory, II

As the Lake-town fragment continues, it is perhaps worth noting that the passage considered most pornographic, or perhaps merely erotic, by hobbit readers of this text is Bilbo’s description of his meals.

 

Bilbo woke first in the morning. He found that he was still nestled in Thorin’s arms, though he had rolled over in his sleep to face him. Their legs were tangled together, and Thorin’s hair was tangled over his face. Bilbo smoothed it back, with a very light hand, strand by strand, not wanting to wake him. He wanted to lie and look at Thorin for a good long time, without being asked what he was looking at, and without having him gazing back, making him nervous. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t have minded lying face to face with Bofur, looking into each other’s eyes. They were simply different.

When Thorin woke, though, and his expression melted directly from sleeping blankness to a fond smile, Bilbo found himself smiling back placidly and wriggling closer to kiss him. 

‘My burglar,’ Thorin murmured. ‘What would please you most today?’

‘Hmm... tea and toast, for breakfast. Then a hot bath. Then bacon and eggs for second breakfast.’

‘Second breakfast?’

‘Well, I didn’t mention it before, but since we’re so comfortable here, and you seem concerned about my weight, I thought I might resume a proper, normal, substantial diet, as I would at home.’

‘Tell me of this proper, normal, substantial diet of yours,’ Thorin said, propping his head up on his arm. 

‘Well, there are two main schools of thought about second breakfast,’ Bilbo said, rolling onto his back and preparing to dilate upon a subject near to his heart. ‘Some say that _first_ breakfast should be the substantial meal, and second breakfast only a little top-up to get you through to elevenses, but I can’t face a lot of food when I first wake up. I wake up at about seven in the morning, and I go through to the kitchen in my dressing-gown and make tea and toast just to get myself moving. With honey, of course, or whatever sort of jam I feel like. Then I’ll have a wash and get dressed, and make my bed and put the room to rights, and it’s back to the kitchen to make a start on second breakfast.’

‘The substantial meal,’ Thorin said, nodding.

‘Now I almost always have eggs, but there are so many different ways to prepare them that they never get dull. Fried, boiled, poached, scrambled, omelettes - oh, and coddled...’

‘Like you,’ Thorin put in.

‘Shush. Or sometimes I make pancakes, which have eggs _in_ them, and I have thick ones with golden syrup and butter, or thin ones with lemon juice and sugar. Then there’s bacon, ham, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, baked beans, more toast, fried bread... if there are potatoes left over from dinner the night before, and other vegetables, I’ll make a nice bit of bubble and squeak. That’s lovely. And then there’s porridge, with cream and honey, or golden syrup, or brown sugar, or stewed apple and cinnamon and raisins, sometimes some nuts, it all depends on what’s in season and what I’ve got in. Oh! I forgot kippers! And kidneys! Not with the porridge, as part of a fry-up. And in summer-time I’ll have lovely fresh fruit, berries, with just a sprinkle of icing sugar and some blobs of softly whipped cream.’

‘Why aren’t you Bombur-shaped?’

‘I go for a brisk walk every day. Sometimes two, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. That seems to do the trick. Well, once I’ve cleared up after second breakfast, I have a smoke out in the garden and read my post, and answer anything that really needs it, and before long it’s time for elevenses. Now, that’s not a big meal. Usually I’ll just make another pot of tea and have a slice of cake and some biscuits. Perhaps a bit of bread and butter if I’m peckish.’ He rolled onto his side again, facing Thorin and growing quite animated. ‘For the rest of the morning, I’ll often do a bit of baking, just to keep the tins filled. I usually make the dough for the next day’s bread and set it in the airing cupboard to prove. _Then_ it’s time for luncheon.’

‘And is that a big meal?’ Thorin asked. 

‘Oh, it’s substantial. I often have cold meat from last night’s roast, or a nice hearty soup, or perhaps for my morning baking I’ve made a nice cottage pie, and there’s more bread and butter, and a bit of a salad if it’s spring or summer, or in winter I’ll put lots of vegetables into the soup, because you must have some fruit or vegetables with every meal, that’s why the Tooks live so long. But sometimes, sometimes I must say, I’ve gone out for a good long walk, and so I take a few rounds of sandwiches and a bottle or so of ginger-beer with me in a knapsack. And I might stop at a pub on the way home, because there are several around Hobbiton that do a very creditable lunch.’ His mouth was quite watering to think of the Green Dragon’s pickled onions.   ‘After lunch I’ll usually read a bit, or bake the bread, or call on some friends - but I suppose you don’t want to hear what I do in between meals, only what the meals are.’

‘No, it’s a relief to hear that you do _something_ in between meals,’ said Thorin. 

‘I often have friends to afternoon tea,’ Bilbo went on. ‘It’s a nice comfortable sort of entertaining, and they expect to go home before dinner-time so you don’t have people hanging about all evening. If I expect company then I might go a bit lightly on luncheon, to save room. For tea you must offer at least one plain cake and one iced, my father was very definite about that. Then you have sandwiches, biscuits, scones, jam and honey and cream, bread and butter, and you might have fruit - it’s another good time for berries, or you might tumble together slices of peaches and plums and drizzle a light syrup over them. In the winter, on the other hand, tea isn’t tea without toast and crumpets or muffins - or all three, really, depending on the company. I’d offer boiled eggs, too - hard-boiled and cold in the summer, soft-boiled with toast soldiers in the winter.’

‘I see,’ said Thorin, looking a little dazed.

‘And _then,’_ Bilbo went on, ‘in the evening you have _dinner._ I’ll often roast a fowl, or a small joint of meat, or grill some chops or a steak, or if I had a big tea and fancy something light and simple, I can fry up a fish. Then there are the vegetables, salad in the summer-time, bread and butter, plenty of potatoes, boiled, mashed, roasted, baked, perhaps chips if I feel like being a devil. Do you know, I haven’t even mentioned relishes and sauces and chutneys and so on, and they’re so important to a meal. Gravy! I make excellent gravy. I think you get the very best flavour with beef or lamb, and it’s important to simmer it slowly so the flavours develop. And then, oh, then, there’s _pudding_ to follow. A lovely syrupy steamed pudding, a figgy duff, a fruit pie, a fool or a blanc-mange. With lashings of cream or custard. Then I just fill in any last empty corners with cheese and crackers.’

‘Before staggering to your bed?’

‘Oh, no, I’ll read for a while more, and have a good smoke, and then there’s supper. Don’t laugh! It’s terrible to go to bed and wake up hungry in the middle of the night. Anyway, supper’s hardly anything, usually only a cup of cocoa and some biscuits.’

‘Then - only then - are you satiated.’

‘For the time being, yes.’

‘And I thought we were big eaters. There are hidden depths to you, Mr Baggins, or perhaps just hollow legs.’

‘You see, I’ve noticed that you - all of you - tend to get rather short-tempered around mid-morning and mid-afternoon. That’s when you need a snack to keep you going. Three big meals a day isn’t enough - you get too hungry in between. I know! I shall ask everyone to try my diet while we stay here, so they can see for themselves how good it is and how well they’ll feel.’ He sat up, delighted with the idea. ‘Come on, let’s have our bath and tell the others.’

‘Bilbo. You seem to have got an erection from talking about _food.’_ Thorin dipped his hand into Bilbo’s lap and wrapped it around the stiff pink shaft. 

‘It _is_ first thing in the morning,’ Bilbo protested, blushing slightly. 

‘You definitely had a lustful look in your eye when you were talking about puddings.’ He drew his hand up and stroked the tip with his thumb and forefinger. 

‘Um. I do - do sometimes _think_ of puddings when - it’s not on purpose, they just seem to be connected in my mind. Don’t _laugh._ If you laugh while you’re holding my cock I’ll be very unhappy. I don’t want _that_ connected.’

‘Would it flatter you if I compared it to food? It’s like... a lovely plump pork sausage.’ Thorin bent down and kissed the head, sliding the foreskin up and down with his tongue.

‘Oh goodness. Don’t bite it, though.’

‘Do you really want a bath now? You’re not messy enough yet. Let me make a real creamy mess of you.’

‘Both of us,’ Bilbo said eagerly. ‘Here, on your back.’ He gave Thorin’s shoulders a push and clambered over to straddle him. ‘Where’s the oil?’

‘What’s this? Mr Baggins taking charge?’ Thorin passed him the jar. 

‘I can sometimes. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘If I minded, you would soon know about it.’ Thorin shifted his hips and drew up his knees a bit, holding Bilbo’s thighs comfortably. 

‘Oh, _good.’_ Bilbo tipped the jar and drizzled the oil over his cock, standing up proudly, and Thorin’s, lying against the thick dark hair of his belly. 

‘This isn’t a preparation for frying, is it?’

‘Don’t say such things. Anyway, if mine is a pink pork sausage, yours would be one of those big red spiced beefy ones.’ Bilbo rubbed the oil over the ribbed underside of Thorin’s cock, feeling it grow thicker and harder under his touch. ‘Will it wear a crown when you’re king?’

‘Perhaps sometimes, for state occasions. Not a crown, but a golden helmet.’

‘It has a very nice helmet as it is. I’ll polish it up. Like a glistening ruby.’

‘Ah, I see; I compare yours with food, you compare mine with jewels. Very fitting.’

‘It _is_ beautiful.’ Bilbo bent low to kiss him, gathering the two warm shafts together in his hand and stroking along their length. It was a long, deep, lazy kiss, tongues caressing each other as the tingling in their cocks grew. ‘And strong... and it makes me so happy...’ He began to thrust, slowly grinding them together. Thorin gave an appreciative grunt and wrapped his arms around him snugly. ‘Now, for the best mess, if that’s what you want, you’re not popping it in. We’re going to come on your belly. Squish, squish.’

Thorin smothered a laugh and kissed him again, sliding his hands down Bilbo’s back to squeeze his upraised bottom. 

‘You’re _not_ to pop it in, not this time.’

‘No, I’m not, but wouldn’t you like a finger or two to help you along?’ He reached one arm over to the jar and dipped his fingers. 

‘Oh, yes...’ Bilbo gasped and dropped his forehead to Thorin’s shoulder as one thick finger worked its way in, then a second, then a third, clustered tightly together. He needed a few deep breaths to steady himself, before resuming his stroke. ‘Ohhh... you’ve just... just made it so much better but _so_ much harder...’

‘Feels a little softer to me.’

‘Shut up. I’ve got to concentrate now. Ohhhhh...’ He rocked his hips again, loving the slippery stroke of their cocks together and the ticklish brush of Thorin’s hair. ‘Is that good?’

‘Mmm.’ Thorin slid his free hand up Bilbo’s back to clasp the back of his neck, guiding his head for another lush, wet kiss, jamming his fingers deeper as Bilbo humped breathlessly. He dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his hips, pumping harder and grunting as the friction between them burned. Bilbo was whimpering now, sucking at Thorin’s lips, flushed and sweaty and quivering, clutching their cocks tight, fingers slipping and skidding in warm oil and precome.

This time it was Thorin who came first, with a deep husky groan, his cock spitting out a thick stream of spunk between them. He subsided, panting, giving no resistance to Bilbo’s increasingly vigorous thrusts and rising cries, until he roused himself enough to thrust his fingers rapidly in his bottom, helping him up to a spurting, twitching climax. 

Bilbo went limp and heavy, gasping and babbling against Thorin’s neck, his soft face glowing with pleasure. Eventually, as Thorin stroked his back, the babble resolved into soft, happy moans and sighs. He lifted his head and kissed him, much more gently and calmly. ‘Is this enough of a mess, d’you think?’

‘Let me see.’ Thorin helped him to lift himself up a bit and looked down between their bodies. ‘It’s a superb mess.’

‘Quite enough for a bath. If only I thought I could walk to the bathroom.’ He eased himself down again, laying his head on Thorin’s shoulder and closing his eyes. 

‘Then we’ll rest a little while,’ Thorin said, still stroking his back, his palm warm against Bilbo’s slick, damp skin. ‘I’ll try having a hobbit blanket.’

‘And then... then we’ll tell the others. My plan.’

 

The plan was accepted, with particular warmth from Bombur, Bofur, Fili and Kili, and perhaps surprisingly, Dwalin. Ori agreed with the proviso that he still wouldn’t eat green food, and Bifur managed to indicate, by means of a spirited mime, that he would eat anything green that Ori didn’t want. Although they had missed their chance at first breakfast by the time everyone had gathered in the dining room, they ate a combined breakfast quite large and hearty enough to compensate, including trout that had been alive and swimming in the lake not half an hour earlier, grilled and served spitting hot with a squeeze of lemon. 

‘Can we borrow you today, Bilbo?’ Fili asked, licking grease off his fingers.

‘What do you have in mind?’ Bilbo asked. He was sitting beside Thorin, brushing one foot against his boot under the table. Given how heavy Thorin’s boots were, he wasn’t sure he could actually feel it, but it pleased him to do it either way.

‘Nothing too uproarious. We’re tired of wearing Men’s clothes with the sleeves and legs rolled up, so we’re going to have new clothes made to fit, and we thought you might like to come with us.’

‘Since you’re probably a bit tired of wearing children’s clothes,’ Kili said, with an ill-disguised giggle.

‘Yes, all right, it’s not my _fault_ I’m wearing a cardigan with little felt rocking-horses on the pockets.’

‘And you look ever so sweet in it,’ Kili said, reaching over to pinch his cheek. Bilbo turned his head and nipped his thumb, and he snatched it back with an exaggerated yelp. 

‘I don’t mind if you go,’ Thorin said off-handedly. Bilbo shot a sidelong look at him. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Thorin just now. He didn’t quite like the thought that he belonged to him and needed to be _borrowed_ from him, but if he were to belong to him, he thought that Thorin should behave more affectionately before others. He needn’t keep his arm around him or hold his hand, but that tone of voice didn’t please Bilbo, particularly after last night and this morning when he had been so loving.

‘I don’t mind if I go either,’ he said. 

They were taken, in a small boat that nipped neatly between the piers of Lake-town, to the finest tailor available, who measured them all and made many polite and complimentary remarks, then listened attentively and respectfully and made many notes in a little tablet while Fili and Kili explained what sort of clothes they wanted and pointed out fabrics amongst the samples in the shop.

‘And the, er, the little gentleman?’ he asked, turning to Bilbo. 

‘I’ve brought these,’ Bilbo said, unwrapping the little bundle he had carried along, containing his own old clothes, very much worn, stain, torn and frayed. ‘I hoped you might be able to use them as a pattern for new ones.’

‘Ah,’ said the tailor, taking the red coat delicately with his thumbs and forefingers and turning it back and forth before the light. His expression of distaste softened a little. ‘I don’t know the style, but these were very well made to begin with.’

‘Yes - you see the mark inside the collar? Bracegirdles of Hobbiton, the best tailors in the Shire.’ Bilbo bobbed on his toes, pleased to find somebody who appreciated the finer things. He thoroughly enjoyed choosing his materials, a sturdy bottle-green corduroy for the coat and a handsome wine-red brocade for the waistcoat, with practical earth-brown moleskin for the trousers, and made a particular request that the bone buttons Fili and Kili had made for him be saved and used again. 

He was about to try to explain cravats, which would be rather more difficult without an example to show, when Fili pointed out that it was almost eleven o’clock, and didn’t that mean that they should be eating something? Accordingly, they made their way to a nearby tavern, where they enjoyed some excellent white wine and honey cakes, since tea did not seem to be a Lake-town drink. They were the objects of much attention and admiration, which Fili and Kili clearly enjoyed just as much as the elevenses. They put their feet up on the table and leaned back in their chairs, smiling expansively around the crowded room, friendly or flirtatious by turns depending on who they spoke to. Bilbo applied himself to the cakes and tried to ignore how annoying it was when big people treated him like a child just because, to their eyes, he was child-sized; patting him on the head, calling him ‘little fellow,’ bringing him a cup of milk instead of more wine when he asked for it. 

At that, the brothers noticed how vexed he was getting, and began enthusiastically narrating to their avid audience how cleverly and bravely Bilbo had made his way through Mirkwood and rescued them all from durance vile in the Elf-king’s dungeon. They re-enacted his battle with the giant spiders, with the parts of Giant Spider 1 and Giant Spider 2 being played by Fili and Kili with the tavern-keeper and his wife’s fur coats thrown over them, scuttling about on all fours and making horrible hissing noises. After a further application of white wine and some flattery, Bilbo was prevailed upon to sing his Attercop song, and was roundly applauded, short and silly as it was.

They left the tavern in great high spirits, Bilbo in between Fili and Kili with their arms slung around his shoulders. Unfortunately, once outside, they were quite mobbed. Word had gone aroudn while they were inside, and a crowd had gathered. There had been a limit to how many people could get into the tavern, but on the wooden walkways of Lake-town the people teemed to see and touch the two handsome dwarf-princes as they tried to make their way to the water and their waiting boat. They tugged at their clothing, and someone with a pen-knife tried to cut off a lock of Kili’s hair. As quick as lightning, Fili had a knife of his own at the culprit’s throat. It was a young girl, red-faced and flustered, pushed forward by a knot of her friends. Tears sprang out in her eyes, but she was too frightened to draw breath to cry, and only stood there with her lips trembling. The crowd around them fell silent, and there was a terrible moment of suspense.

Kili put one hand on Fili’s arm and gently lowered it. 

‘I’m very sorry,’ Fili said. ‘Are you all right, pretty maid?’

She nodded, sniffing hard, and the tears spilled down her face. 

‘My brother is very dear to me, and I can’t let anyone harm a hair of his head,’ Fili went on, smiling a little. ‘You see, with him so handsome, if we let every lady who wants one take a lock, he would be bald as an egg before we reached the Lonely Mountain. We can’t have that, can we?’

She shook her head, sniffing again, although there were no fresh tears.

‘But if you’ll accept it, have this from his less beautiful brother,’ Fili concluded. He brought up his knife again, took hold of one side of his moustache by the silver ornament on its end, nicked it away, kissed it, and offered it on the palm of his hand. She took it with trembling fingers. The crowd remained in astonished abeyance, and Bilbo, looking towards the water, could see the way to the pier where their boatman was waving his hand. Someone squealed.

‘Run,’ suggested Kili casually, and they sprinted pell-mell to jump into the boat, almost overturning it as they landed. The startled, swearing rowers had just got them properly clear when the crowd hit the edge of the pier, the ones reaching the brink first trying to stop themselves but being knocked straight into the water by those hurtling up from behind. The ducking seemed to calm them, as they bobbed up spitting and blinking, and those still on the pier broke up in general laughter. Fili and Kili made courteous bows to them, from safely seated positions, and Bilbo tried to shrink down inside his wretched cardigan and be as invisible as he could without magical aid, as their boat made the swiftest possible progress back towards the merchant’s house.

Once safely inside, Kili turned to Fili and shook him by the shoulders. ‘What have you done to yourself?’ he cried. ‘You’re all lop-sided! Your lovely golden moustache is mutilated!’

‘I know,’ said Fili ruefully, ‘but I had to make some sort of grand gesture or I think they might have fallen on us and eaten us up. That was really hairy. No pun intended.’

‘This is what you get for making everybody fall in love with you,’ Bilbo said wearily. ‘You don’t see me getting mobbed for locks of hair.’

‘It’s not our fault if we’re gorgeous,’ Kili said, ‘and if we’re going to be living nearby that lot will just have to learn to restrain themselves.’

‘Anyway, I’ve got to even this up,’ Fili said, and although it made Kili wince he cut off the other side of his moustache to match. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘really. It’ll keep out of my beer better this way, and it’ll grow back soon enough. You know how fast my hair grows. I tell you what, you keep it for me, it might give _your_ hair the right idea.’

‘Ass,’ said Kili, but he put the moustache-tip away in a locket about his neck.

‘Really,’ said Fili, touching Kili’s chin, lifting it with his crooked finger underneath and his thumb under his lower lip, ‘when this gets long enough, you braid it into a little tail and put that silver bead on the end. I’d be proud to see you wear it; so would Uncle, since it was his first.’ He kissed his brother, softly and sweetly, and they might have done more if not for the interruption of a dismayed ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ from Dori, who was crossing the hall on his way to the kitchen.

‘Just a bit of family affection,’ Fili said sheepishly, letting Kili go. 

‘But can’t you keep it to your bedroom? Really? I could have been Ori. A little bit of discretion is all I ask,’ Dori said beseechingly.

‘At least they weren’t fucking the burglar up against the front door,’ grunted Gloin, putting his head out of the parlour door. ‘While you’re up, Dori, mine’s a pint of heavy. And you lot - if you're having your daft lottery again tonight, keep it down.'

'Now that,' said Kili, 'is a really good idea.'


	8. Delightful and Satisfactory, III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in Lake-town, still fucking like bunnies. At Nori's particular request, he gets a starring role this time.
> 
> Star, Nori, it's a hair joke.

After a large and satisfying lunch, the dwarves scattered to various pursuits. A digestive nap was a popular choice. Oin and Balin were playing a very serious, slow and intense game of chess which attracted a few spectators, including Ori, who was drawing them. Bifur was making little folded paper birds and flying them out of the upstairs windows to children in the street below. Dwalin had managed to go shopping in the morning _without_ being mobbed by admirers, and took Bilbo aside to present him with a fresh supply of pipeweed.

‘Old Toby,’ Bilbo exclaimed, looking at the wrapper. ‘This _has_ come a long way!’

‘No further than you have. Anyway, saw it, thought you might like it. No need for a fuss!’ Dwalin said warningly, as Bilbo looked likely to thank him.

‘I won’t make a fuss, but I _will_ enjoy this,’ Bilbo said firmly, tucking the parcel into his pocket and giving Dwalin a wink, which made him cough and look furious.

Bilbo thought it might be nice to do some baking in readiness for afternoon tea, in order that the dwarves should really understand its appeal, and accordingly went to find Bombur to ask if he would like to help. However, he found him fast asleep on a rug, flat on his back and snoring musically, with Bofur using one side of his belly as a backrest while carving a whistle from a bit of wood. He expressed himself quite ready to help in his brother’s place, so together they went to the kitchen and found themselves aprons.

Bilbo had to turn his over several times at the waist to prevent it trailing on the floor and tripping him up. He was rather flummoxed by the height of the table and counters, until Bofur had a brainwave and, with remarkable rapidity and repurposing of firewood and kitchen twine, made him a pair of very simple stilts, blocks which tied onto his feet with two loops of twine.

‘Now that’s really good thinking,’ Bilbo said, experimentally clopping around the table. ‘As long as I don’t try to go too fast, I shall be quite all right.’

‘Well, it was that or saw down the legs of the table,’ said Bofur, ‘and I didn’t think the owner would thank me for that. What d’you want to make?’

‘Let’s see what’s in the pantry.’ The kitchen proved to be very well stocked, and Bofur an amiable and capable helper. Together they spent a very pleasant time making a good plain ginger cake, a lemon sponge to be layered with cream and lemon curd (which, according to Bungo’s rules, could be substituted for an iced cake without dishonour to the tea-table), and a large batch of crisp almond biscuits. When everything was in the oven and they had cleared up the mess, they sat down comfortably on the kitchen settle to have a pipe and keep an eye on the clock.

‘You ought to try this - Old Toby. It’s milder than yours, lovely and smooth.’

‘I’ll try anything once,’ said Bofur agreeably, and let Bilbo fill his pipe. He lit it and puffed appreciatively. ‘Not bad at all.’

Bilbo sat back contentedly and blew a small smoke-ring just to warm up. ‘I think this will be a very acceptable tea,’ he said. ‘Thanks very much for your help.’

‘I just liked doing something together with you,’ Bofur replied. ‘You might have noticed I’m quite fond of you.’

‘And I’m quite fond of you. Isn’t that nice!’

‘Thank goodness for days like this. I’m all aboard for the quest, but I like a bit of a comfy rest day now and then,’ Bofur said. 

‘Why _did_ you join this quest, exactly? Did you want an adventure, too?’

‘Yeah, bit of adventure, bit of glory, lots of gold at the end and free beer - that’s what I was promised. Thorin’s keeping up his end of the deal so far.’

‘How did you happen to meet him? You’re very different.’

‘Ah, you mean because he’s royalty and I’m common as muck?’ Bofur asked, smiling. He leaned forward and pulled up a stool to prop his feet on.

‘I wouldn’t have said _that_ at all.’ Bilbo undid the twine of his stilts and drew his feet up onto the settle, to sit cross-legged.

‘It’s all right, I’ve never given myself airs. Well, it was years and years ago, when Fili and Kili were just little boys, and poor old Bifur was just getting better with the axe in his head. We were awfully worried about him - we’d never seen someone _live_ like that, although there are some old stories about it. At first he couldn’t speak at all, and when he did start talking again we couldn’t understand much of it - he’d forgotten the common tongue, and the Dwarvish he talks is really old-fashioned, from thousands of years ago. But he managed to make us understand he wanted to get back to work, and the doctor said it would probably do him good, but we should keep an eye on him with sharp tools - not because he thought he’d go berserk and stab someone, because he might be clumsy and hurt himself. 

‘Now Bifur was always a toymaker. That’s what our family does - what we _really_ do, the coal-mining’s just to make ends meet. When you hear the legends of Dale, you always hear about the toy market. And that’s my family, that’s what we were famous for - not warriors or smiths or bards, but we were proud of it. Bif used to make the loveliest little things - jointed wooden animals all painted to look just like the real thing, and dolls, and soft stuffed toys, the kind of thing kiddies take to bed at night for a cuddle. And I’d make puppets and wooden flutes and xylophones and building blocks... well, after the, er, after his head, his toys changed. He started making goblins, and dragons, and weird lumpy stuffed animals that didn’t look like anything that really lives. We thought they wouldn’t sell, but the kiddies loved them.

‘Anyway, the time I’m talking about now is after Erebor and Moria, when people were wandering about trying to make new lives. We’d shifted to the Blue Mountains, to see if things were any better there, and we set up our stall in the weekly market. Bif was in charge that day because I had to work a shift in the mine and Bombur was sick. Thorin was walking around the market, as you do, and he saw this dwarf with an axe in his head selling toys, and thought hello, you don’t see that every day. He tried to strike up a conversation about it, I found out later, but he didn’t get far, and he was embarrassed to just go away after that, so he bought two lumpy animals for his little nephews.’

‘Which they loved?’

‘They _adored_ ‘em. So the next time one of them had a birthday he brought them back to choose something new. He always had to get both of them a present or the other one would cry. And I was there that time, so we could actually have a talk and clear everything up. I wouldn’t say we got friendly, but after that he knew who we were and I suppose he thought we seemed like good sorts. Thorin doesn’t forget anyone. We hadn’t seen him in years when he sent us a letter asking if we wanted to join the company. Didn’t take long to decide.’ Bofur shrugged and blew a large, hazy smoke-ring over Bilbo’s head. 

‘Ah, so he _wanted_ you along,’ Bilbo said. ‘Not like me!’

‘If he hadn’t’ve wanted you, he wouldn’t’ve left you that contract,’ Bofur said. ‘I liked him for that, actually. Some people would have stuck around in the morning and pressed you to decide. He left you alone, and he gave you a way out, but he gave you a way in, too. I bet he was happy when he saw you come puffing up the track behind us, waving it over your head like a flag. He just - didn’t give any sign of it whatever.’

‘That’s just his little way,’ Bilbo said. ‘Thank goodness he warmed up to me, or I might have frozen to death.’

‘I’ve got to get something off my chest,’ said Bofur, leaning over confidingly. ‘I bet you weren’t coming. I was glad to see I was wrong, mind. You were so scared, but there you were. There’s a brave little fella, I thought. Not to mention he’ll be somebody to talk to. I mean, I love Bif and Bom, but you’ll have noticed they’re not great conversationalists. And the others, well, you’re right that we’re different. Not always easy to just have a chat.’

‘I didn’t realise,’ Bilbo said, quite touched. ‘I’m sorry you were lonely.’

‘Well, I’m not now.’ Bofur tapped Bilbo’s nose with his pipestem and smiled, his eyes crinkling. ‘It’s about time for the biscuits, isn’t it?’

‘Oh! Yes.’ Bilbo hurried over to the oven, hurried back to get his block-stilts on so that he could open the door without a struggle, hurried over again and found that the cakes were rising very nicely and the biscuits were just done. He pulled out the tray with his apron wrapped over his hands, and set it on a wire rack to cool while Bofur shut the oven door again. They shook hands over a job well done and returned to the settle in triumph. Bofur once more put his feet up on the stool, his ankles jauntily crossed, and Bilbo, after kicking off the blocks, clambered up beside him. He swivelled himself around to sit with his feet up on the seat and leant his back against Bofur’s shoulder.

‘Hallo there,’ said Bofur fondly, and wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s middle.

‘Do you know,’ Bilbo said, tipping back his head and smiling up at Bofur, ‘and I don’t say this lightly, I think you’d make a very good hobbit.’

‘Oh, would I?’

‘Yes. You appreciate the finer things. You’re friendly and comfortable, and sensible. I feel very much at ease with you.’

‘Is this the part,’ Bofur asked thoughtfully, ‘where you ask me if I’ve got a bit of hobbit in me, and if I say no you say “Do you want some”?’

Bilbo gave a little snort of laughter. ‘If only I’d thought of that!’

‘D’you like doing it that way round too?’

‘I do _like_ it, but I _love_ being on the receiving end.’

‘Oh, I know you do. It shows all over your face.’

‘Look, people keep saying things about my face when we’re at it, and I don’t know what they mean. I’ve never seen it in a mirror, and my Took cousins never commented on it. What’s so unusual about it? What does it look like?’

‘Well - I’ll try and...’ Bofur thought for a moment, then produced an extraordinary facial contortion. He scrunched his eyes closed, his eyebrows knit together and going sharply up in the middle, and pulled his lips in between his teeth, biting down on them. The whole effect was one of acute suffering. He relaxed and laughed. ‘Probably doesn’t look as good on me.’

‘That looks terrible!’ Bilbo protested.

‘No, no, it’s the sweetest thing you ever saw! And you’re looking at it upside down.’ Bofur gave him a little squeeze around the waist and puffed at his pipe. 

‘I’d try not to do it any more, but I don’t suppose I can help it.’

‘Not when you feel it slide in, eh?’

‘Or when it _bumps_ that little spot in behind my cock. I get fireworks in my head when that happens. Well, in my bum, too, but I hate to be indelicate.’ He popped his pipe back in his mouth with a satisfying click, and felt the gentle quake of Bofur quietly chuckling.

‘D’you fancy a bump now?’

‘I’m saving up for tonight - I’m holding a lottery.’

‘You _will_ be a popular boy.’

‘Fili and Kili are making new lots, though, with numbers on them. This time I really want to do the full six, so it’s just a matter of order.’ He felt warm all over just thinking about it.

‘In between dinner and supper?’

‘Supper might be quite late, but yes, that’s my plan. Cocks cocks cocks, all evening long.’

Bofur gave a startled snort and then laughed until he bent double and wheezed.

‘My poor fellow,’ Bilbo said, patting him on the back kindly, ‘are you all right? Do you need a drink of water?’

‘Please.’ When he had composed himself, Bofur said ‘But you remember we’ve all been invited to another banquet tonight, don’t you?’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said, crestfallen. ‘Do you think it will go on for ages and ages?’

‘All the others have.’

 

Sitting in the dining hall of the Master of Lake-town, perched on top of a large book for height, Bilbo tried to console himself with the fact that the food was plentiful and excellent. That _was_ almost enough to content him, particularly given how good the roast duck was. On the other hand, he didn’t think he would ever taste or smell roast duck again without remembering his seduction by the House of Durin, if seduction you could call it, and judging by the amount of winking they indulged in from across the table, Fili and Kili had similar associations.

He was seated between Bombur, who had not said a word since the starters were served unless you counted ‘Yum,’ and Gloin, who was engaged in a shouted argument with his brother about what the Master must have paid for his furniture. It was not really convivial. The minstrels entertaining in the centre of the hall, between the long trestle tables, were singing a great many songs about the King Under the Mountain, with a general view to buttering up Thorin as much as humanly possible. Thorin was being very grand and majestic and accepting the musical butter as his due. He had hardly looked at Bilbo all day, and he was beginning to feel somewhat slighted. Indeed, in the din of the banqueting hall he felt generally overlooked, and as if he could have slipped away unnoticed without needing any sort of magic ring to make him invisible.

Across the table, Kili gave him another wink and made a quite lewd gesture of sucking his forefinger clean.

‘Right,’ Bilbo muttered to himself, and slipped under the table. Under there, it was a fraction quieter, and a good deal darker, though he could still plainly see the legs and feet of the dwarves, and the fresh, green-scented rushes on the floor. There was a cat, sneaking about looking for dropped food and finding plenty of it. It gave Bilbo a brief glance of acknowledgement, one sneak to another, and went on with its search. 

He could easily recognise Fili and Kili’s legs, and crawling forward, put his hands on Kili’s knees and nudged them further apart. Kili, with commendable subtlety, pretended to drop his knife in order to lean sideways, put his head under the cloth and whisper ‘What are you doing?’

‘What do you think?’ Bilbo whispered back.

‘I think you’re the best burglar we could possibly have got,’ Kili whispered back, and hastily kissed him before sitting up again. As Bilbo unbuttoned his trousers, he could hear Kili very loudly telling a joke about a goblin, presumably to allay suspicion. He was glad to find that Kili wasn’t wearing the traditional woolly combinations, at any rate, but some rather lighter local drawers that were much easier to gently pull down and tuck under his balls. His skin smelled warm and spicy, just slightly sweaty in the warmth of the hall, and Bilbo leaned in to kiss his beautiful hard flat stomach, feeling the muscles twitch. He nuzzled downward, feeling the hair thicken under his lips, and kissed first the root, then along the length of Kili’s cock. It was quickly stiffening in a thoroughly gratifying manner, and he felt Kili’s hand on his head, briefly stroking his curls before returning to the tabletop.

 _I am kneeling under the table sucking Kili’s lovely fat cock. Nobody knows I’m here but him - and probably Fili, I would be surprised if he hasn’t whispered it to him by now. Everyone around us is eating, drinking, singing, laughing, and I’m giving him the sweetest pleasure while he tries to act as if nothing is going on._ The thought of it was exciting him as much as the fact of the warm cock swelling in his mouth, its head smooth and slippery on his tongue. He was stroking it against the inside of his cheek when the cloth lifted and Fili popped his head down, making a feint of picking up his fork.

‘You little champion,’ Fili whispered. ‘I’ve never seen his face so red.’

‘Mm?’ Bilbo’s mouth was fully occupied, but he managed to smile with his eyes.

‘Will you do me next? I’m getting rock hard thinking about you down here.’

‘Mm-hmm.’ By the time Kili had spurted in his mouth and subsided, Bilbo was fully hard himself, and took the opportunity to undo his own trousers before shuffling sideways to please Fili. He found him highly excited, his cock rosy-red and leaking precome, and devoted one hand to rubbing the shaft as he licked the head, the other to stroking his own erection. He was almost giddy with the smells of hot skin and fresh spunk, and his heart was thumping. 

Several times, when much younger, he had done something a bit like this at table, a sort of game of dares between him and his cousins. He had been very much impressed by cousin Robin’s ability to listen politely to a very long and digressive post-prandial anecdote from the Old Took while being vigorously wanked under the tablecloth, showing no more discomposure than a certain ruddiness of the cheeks and brightness of the eyes. His own tendency to squirm and squeak had meant that the dare always had to be abandoned before he could come. Actually getting under the table to suck, though, had never been possible or even considered; it had only been something they had discussed in whispers while later fondling each other in bed. His own boldness and daring were arousing him tremendously.

 _And Robin is married now, with four little girls and two thumping great boys, and I know he’s very happy and adores his wife but_ he _isn’t the one sucking big juicy cocks right now._ That thought, and a frantic rubbing, brought him to a delicious climax, and if Fili’s climax was not quite so delicious to swallow, that was only to be expected. He sat back, catching his breath, while both brothers reached under the table from time to time to stroke his hair, pass him morsels of food, and at some peril of spillage, offer him a cup of wine. He accepted all these with pleasure before looking around him, identifying Bofur’s familiar chunky boots, and moving on. As the banquet went on and song after song was performed in the dwarves’ praise, he crept from one of his admirers to another, and an alert observer might have been able to chart his progress by noting which of them periodically went rather quiet, distracted and flushed. 

To his regret, he had to skip Nori, who was sitting between his brothers and could not have been visited without detection and great fussy disapproval. Bilbo resolved to make it up to him somehow. He saved Thorin for last, partly because he had a half-formed thought of snubbing him, to make the point that he was not to be ignored, but when the time came he was too full of both passion and stealthily passed wine to snub anyone.

It was observed that, towards the end of the evening, the King Under the Mountain grew rather quiet and abstracted, and shifted uneasily in his seat. When asked if he would favour the company with a song of his own, he replied that he was not in good voice tonight, and his voice certainly did sound a little hoarse and strained. It was not observed, except by members of the King’s own party, that their small associate who had disappeared at some point in the evening crawled out from under the table just as it was time to go, looking extremely flushed, cheerful and rumpled, and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

As they were being rowed back to the merchant’s house, Thorin more or less stuffed Bilbo under his arm and bore him off to the stern of the boat.

‘Exactly what do you think you were doing?’ he demanded, gripping Bilbo by the shoulders. Bilbo smiled, hiccuped, and tried to kiss him on the nose. ‘Answer me,’ Thorin said, giving him a little shake.

‘I wanted sausages for dinner,’ Bilbo said, and laughed very much at his own joke. He was feeling very warm and giddy and pleased with himself, and well aware that he was more than a bit tipsy.

‘I don’t care if you do it to the others, but not to me.’

‘What d’you mean?’ Bilbo asked, bewildered. ‘Don’t you like me any more?’ His face fell, and the fuzzy warmth quite deserted him.

‘No, no, no,’ Thorin said crossly. ‘Come here. Fool.’ He sat down and pulled Bilbo in to sit between his legs, leaning back against his chest, and wrapped his coat and arms around them both, to keep out the chill of the evening and the water. ‘Do such words as dignity and composure mean anything to you?’

‘But it was such fun...’

‘I’ve made too much of a pet of you. Try to remember that I’m a King, but a King at present without a crown or a throne. If I want to have either of those, I must look and act a King in all respects, and make sure these people of Lake-town believe in me thoroughly and will give me all the help I require, for right now, Mr Baggins, not only have I no crown and no throne, I have scarcely a penny to bless myself with.’

‘All right. Sorry,’ Bilbo mumbled.

‘But of course I _like_ you,’ Thorin said, somewhat indistinctly as he was now speaking to the top of Bilbo’s head through his hair. ‘What confounded rubbish.’

‘I wasn’t sure. Why weren’t you speaking to me today?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were so sweet this morning, in bed and the bath, and then from breakfast on you acted as if you didn’t care for my company at all.’

There was a long pause, during which Thorin rubbed his chin against the top of Bilbo’s head and made an exasperated sound. ‘You don’t make things easy for me, you know,’ he said at last. ‘What I want most in the world, after Erebor, is to have you all to myself and never leave you alone. But I don’t want to smother you, or to monopolise you when you want to be with the others. Then when I try to let you do as you please, you accuse me of not caring or not _liking_ you.’ He gave Bilbo a sort of grumpy, punitive hug. ‘I _like_ you all too much. You’ll recall that I didn’t shove your silly drunken head out of my lap when you started trying to undo my flies with your teeth. I couldn’t turn you down even at the risk of public humiliation, you terrible excuse for a burglar.’

‘I am a very _good_ burglar,’ Bilbo objected. ‘I burgled you right out of a dungeon. I bet nobody’s ever burgled thirteen whole grown-up dwarves before.’

‘Yes, yes, it’s an even more impressive number than six.’

‘Which I _could_ count as nine if I weren’t so modest,’ Bilbo said, and hiccuped again.

‘I am almost certain that you can’t get drunk on spunk. Explain yourself.’

‘I had quite a lot of wine to take the taste away between times. Why can’t come taste nice? I love every single other thing about sucking you off, so wouldn’t it be perfect if it came out tasting like milk as well as looking like it? Or better still, like honey or ginger syrup or... or... well, anything besides salt and a mouthful of dirty old pennies.’

‘If I could make it taste like honey for you, I would. But if you tried to repeat tonight’s performance, I would turn it into vinegar to teach you a lesson.’

‘I’m glad it doesn’t taste like vinegar,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully. ‘You all taste different, though. You’re very salty, so I’m thirsty afterwards. Fili and Kili are hard to tell apart except that Fili’s is a little bit bitterer. Bofur’s has a very odd flavour, it’s almost meaty.’

‘I don’t need to hear how the spunk of every man in my company tastes, little bunny.’

‘I don’t need to be called little bunny, thank you very much.’

‘But you _are_ my little bunny. I can’t think of you any other way now. My bunny, my burglar, my beloved little nuisance.’ Thorin kissed the side of his neck warmly.

‘No. Sulking now.’

‘Even if I tickle you?’

 _‘More_ if you tickle me.’

‘Obdurate, hard-hearted Mr Baggins, when his King Under the Mountain loves him so.’

‘I think you’re a bit pickled yourself,’ Bilbo observed. Thorin’s breath was winy and his face was still quite flushed.

‘Perhaps. Once I get you home I’m going to fuck you bow-legged.’

‘Will you be bow-legged, or is that supposed to happen to me?’ Bilbo asked, trying and failing not to giggle. 

‘Till you scream sounds a bit harsh, but do you see the general idea?’

‘A really deep, rough fuck that leaves me feeling squashy and tingly from top to toe?’

‘Exactly.’ Thorin slid one hand down between Bilbo’s legs and gave him a squeeze. ‘Will I have to wait in line?’

‘We’re drawing numbers tonight. I hope you get an early one.’

‘Even though you’re sulking?’

‘I never sulk _that_ much.’

When they arrived, Thorin carried him pick-a-back onto the little wharf and back up to the house.

‘You’ve picked up a parasite,’ Kili pointed out.

‘Oh, so you’ve learned what a parasite is?’ Thorin asked.

‘I asked Gandalf,’ Kili admitted, sheepishly. ‘Is he all right, though? He looks sleepy.’

‘Between you and me,’ Thorin said quietly, ‘he’s humping my back.’

‘I’m not sleepy,’ Bilbo said, with his eyes closed. ‘I need a cup of tea and a biscuit and I’ll be right as rain.’

‘Then you shall have them.’

He had several biscuits, in fact, and a strong cup of the coffee that seemed to be preferred in Lake-town, sitting in the kitchen on Thorin’s lap while bedroom arrangements were being negotiated. As the two shared bedrooms contained mixtures of members and non-members of the Baggins Appreciation Society, the non-members had to be persuaded to move their things, and a somewhat dubious explanation concoted by Dori for Ori’s benefit. Fili and Kili, who seemed proud of their role as organisers, busied themselves pushing three beds together, their covers turned down, and arranging all conceivable supplies for the greater comfort and delectation of the participants within arm’s reach, even if it was not very plausible that an all-night game of cards for money, _per_ Dori, should require jars of oil and honey in addition to some more believable jugs of beer and bottles of wine. 

‘We’re all set,’ Fili reported, appearing at the kitchen doorway.

‘Ah, but I’m deputised to ask that you wait five minutes more, because Dwalin and Nori aren’t finished in the bathroom yet,’ Bofur said, behind him. 

‘Well, what are they doing in there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bofur said, shrugging. ‘I suppose they want to look nice for Bilbo. Smell nice, anyway. I had a quick wipe and brush myself. Anyway, they’re in no hurry,’ he added, pointing to Bilbo, who was heavily involved in kissing Thorin.

When all concerned were assembled in the chosen bedroom, Kili climbed up and stood on the centre bed in his socks and made a brave attempt to call them to order. He was not notably successful, since Bofur and Nori were busy getting everyone’s drinks ready, and Bilbo was busy lying under Thorin receiving further heavy kissing.

‘Excuse us,’ Fili said politely, tapping Thorin’s shoulder, ‘but do you want us to leave you alone or is this still a party?’

‘What? Oh. No. No, by all means.’ Thorin rolled himself off Bilbo, who was feeling thoroughly, happily addled. ‘I was... I was warming him up.’

‘Then I call the meeting to order!’ Fili cried, bouncing. ‘Just gather round, everybody, sit on the bed if you like. This is our second meeting in full... fullness, though I’m sure we’d all like to thank Mr Baggins for his kind attentions on the road, limited as they were by the conditions.’

There were cries of ‘Hear, hear!’ and a proposal that they drink Mr Baggins’ health, which was taken up with enthusiasm. 

‘He drank all of our healths, after all,’ Fili pointed out, wiping stray beer off his beard.

‘Not mine!’ Nori protested. ‘I’ve been neglected!’ There were cries of ‘Shame!’

‘Not on purpose,’ Bilbo explained. ‘But I didn’t want Dori or Ori suddenly popping his head under the cloth to find out why you’d gone so red.’

‘At one point,’ Bofur said, ‘I felt a licking on my hand and I thought you’d come back for seconds; I took a look and it was only a little dog.’ There was much laughter and a few ribald suggestions before he firmly stated ‘I gave it a chop and it went away.’

‘Well, for this gathering for the appreciation of his delightful self, Mr Baggins has requested that we draw lots for the _order_ in which we, um, go at him,’ Kili went on. ‘So we’ve made numbered lots. The only exception, as requested by Mr Baggins, is that if Dwalin draws number one, he’s to swap with whoever draws number two, for obvious reasons. Um, is there anything else? I don’t think so, we all know how it works... oh! There will be spot prizes! We haven’t decided what for yet.’ With that announcement, he sat down and applied himself to his drink.

‘Mr Baggins,’ said Fili courteously, offering him the lots.

‘Right,’ said Bilbo, kneeling in the middle of the centre bed and holding them up. ‘Draw, gentlemen.’

The order thus established, after a quick negotiation for swapsies in the name of both justice and fraternity, was Bofur, Nori, Dwalin, Fili and Kili, and finally Thorin. Thorin looked rather ruefully at his ‘six’ stick, but it would have looked ungracious to try to make someone more fortunate give up his place, particularly after Fili had been generous by offering his earlier spot to Nori. Bilbo felt disappointed on Thorin’s behalf, but not at all on his own as Bofur gathered him into his arms and kissed him. His mouth tasted as if he had been chewing parsley to freshen it, though there was still a faint taste of garlic and beer from dinner.

‘Will you take your hat off this time?’ Bilbo asked him. 

‘D’you want me to?’ Bofur said, obliging. ‘Off with it, then.’

‘And undo your hair, I think I’d like that,’ Bilbo said, sliding the tie off the end of one of Bofur’s plaits.

‘He won’t look like _Bofur,’_ Fili objected from the sidelines, where he was making himself comfortable with Kili and gradually undressing.

‘I thought he was hiding a bald spot, but he’s not,’ Kili observed with interest.

‘Aren’t they daft?’ Bilbo murmured, combing his fingers through Bofur’s hair and nuzzling at his lips and chin.

‘Daft as a brush,’ Bofur agreed.

‘Your hair’s so soft. It’s just lovely.’ He wrapped his arms around Bofur’s neck and kissed him deeply, pressing the length of his body against his as they knelt on the bed. ‘Now get your clothes off, please.’

‘Same to you, pet.’ They undressed each other leisurely, with frequent pauses to kiss and stroke newly uncovered skin. ‘Keep your shirt on, though. I’m very keen on you in just a shirt.’ He still undid the top buttons and kissed and sucked his way down Bilbo’s neck to his chest, guiding and nudging him to lie back against the pillows Fili and Kili had piled up for the purpose. Bilbo lay sprawled there, uttering little moans of contentment as Bofur stroked him, rubbed him, kissed him, hands and mouth wandering over his chest, belly and thighs. 

The warm, giddy feeling from the wine had faded away for a time, but was rapidly coming back, particularly when Fili leaned over and offered him a fresh glass. He lay sipping it and luxuriating, stroking Bofur’s hair with his free hand, and almost spilled a wasteful quantity as Bofur began gently licking his cock. It was a slow, sinuous tongue-bath that made him tingle and throb in every nerve, particularly when Bofur found the line of sensitive spots running up the underside to the head and worked over them until he was quite beside himself.

‘If you don’t watch out,’ he panted, ‘I’m just going to come all over you.’

‘Well,’ said Bofur, pausing a moment, ‘what would you like best? That’s what I’ll do.’

‘I don’t knoooooow,’ Bilbo said, coming close to whining. ‘I want everything.’

‘One everything coming up,’ Bofur said, lifting himself up to kiss Bilbo’s soft wine-flavoured mouth. ‘We’ll give your cock a wee rest, just to let it calm down a bit. Let’s try another bit.’ He rolled Bilbo onto his side and lay chest to chest with him, still kissing him, pulling his leg over his own hip. ‘I’m going to try something that I’ve always hoped would work one day,’ he said, and snapped his fingers in the air. Fili promptly offered him the jar of oil, and he gave a delighted laugh. ‘I didn’t think it actually would! Wasn’t that just like magic?’

‘Yes, until you drew attention to it,’ Bilbo smiled. He drew Bofur back into a long kiss, briefly interrupted by a little grunt and inhalation as a well-oiled finger pressed in between his buttocks. Little whimpers of pleasure burst out of him as his twitching, fluttering ring was kneaded, Bofur’s broad, blunt fingertip deftly circling and pressing until it slipped in.

‘Tell me where,’ Bofur murmured. ‘I’m still learning your best places.’

‘Oh... deeper in, there, yes... try... try stroking along the wall to the front... now just... just sweep from side to side there, that’s lovely...’

‘And here?’

‘Mmph! Yes!’

‘Tell me how it feels. Fireworks?’

‘Mmm... the little crackers that pop and snap...’

‘How can I get you up to the big ones that burst in the sky?’

‘Cock.’

‘What a good answer.’ Bofur lifted himself up and worked himself into a kneeling position, lifting Bilbo’s upper leg over his shoulder. ‘Pull your other knee up a bit. That’s good. Bilbo?’

‘What?’ Bilbo asked, rather breathlessly. 

‘You’re lovely.’ Bofur gave him one of those soft, warm, crinkly-eyed smiles of his. ‘Can I?’ He held his oiled cock with one hand and tapped it lightly against Bilbo’s buttocks.

‘Oh, please, _please_ do.’

‘Ah... there...’ Bofur entered him slowly, inching in on his knees, breathing hard as his long red shaft sank into the flushed pink ring. ‘Is that good? Does it hurt?’

‘Yes, no, wait, oh...’ Bilbo was trembling, his bottom twitching fiercely, and he had to force himself to breathe slowly as the heat and pleasure flowered inside him. There was a patter of applause, and he looked up, startled.

‘First cock of the evening,’ Kili explained. ‘Well played, Bofur.’

‘Thanks. D’you want to help? He did say he wants _everything,_ so I thought if I could get a couple of volunteers...’

‘Top and tail,’ said Fili gleefully, nodding to Kili, and they instantly clambered over to reach Bilbo. ‘You look a bit flustered, Mr Baggins,’ he said, fondly stroking back Bilbo’s hair and kissing his open mouth. ‘Could we make you feel better?’ Bilbo yelped as Kili’s lips brushed his stomach. ‘Would you like that? Mm? For me to kiss you and tease your sweet little nipples while Kili sucks your cock?’

‘And Bofur fucks your little milky-white bum,’ Kili murmured, applying another kiss just under Bilbo’s navel. 

 _‘Yes,’_ Bilbo managed to say, though it was the last coherent thing he was to say for some time. He was completely overtaken by gluttonous desire, so that it felt absolutely right to have his mouth full, to be sucking and licking, his lips smacking against Fili’s without the least bit of control, let alone good manners. The combined fucking and sucking meant that everything between about his heart and his knees was a rolling boil of sweetness, like a pot of boiling sugar-syrup for toffee. There were hands all over him, gripping and squeezing and rubbing, so busy that surely there were more than three pairs, and trails of fizzing heat, sparkler-streaks of stars, followed them through his skin. And there was hot sweating hairy skin pressed to his, rubbing and grinding, strong burly bodies and heavy husky breathing and deep _hard_ grunts. It was perfect for longer than he had any right to expect, his whole sturdy little body shaking with delight as he came. 

He was light-headed and breathless for a little while after that, but Bofur took great care of him, stroking and soothing him. He could hear Nori complaining about queue-bargers, although not with any great rancour, and Fili and Kili were apologising to him and jollying him along, so he thought he could spare a little longer just to lie in Bofur’s arms, embracing him around the neck and hiding his hot face in the soft hair draped over his shoulder.

‘You all right?’ Bofur asked, smoothing his hand slowly up and down Bilbo’s back. ‘Was that a bit much all at once?’

‘No, no, no. It was a wonderful everything.’ Quietly, because it was true but he wouldn’t want anyone else to misunderstand it and be upset, he added, ‘And you were my favourite part of it. I want to spend a night with just you, please, soon.’ He lifted his head and kissed Bofur’s cheek, strands of hair clinging damply to his face.

‘Well, aren’t I lucky,’ Bofur said softly. He brushed his hair from Bilbo’s cheek with the backs of his fingers, looking into his eyes for a long moment. ‘I think we’ll just have to do that, then.’

‘I think I should attend to Nori now, though,’ Bilbo said with a smile. ‘Or he’ll feel very hard done by.’

‘I think he feels very hard, either way,’ Bofur said, his eyes twinkling. He sat up and gave Bilbo a hand to do the same.

‘I certainly do,’ Nori said. He was sitting cross-legged on one side of the bed, smoking his pipe irritably. ‘Hard done by and ill used. Left _out.’_

‘Oh, no no no,’ Bilbo said coaxingly. He crawled over and put his hands on Nori’s shoulders, freckled and sprinkled with rust-red hair. ‘I would never really leave you out, especially not when you’ve got so beautifully undressed for me. Just look at you!’

Nori grunted indifferently, but Bilbo had a pretty shrewd suspicion from the look in his eyes that he was pretending to be crosser than he felt, precisely in order to be coaxed and flattered. The erection was also a bit of a giveaway. It didn’t stand up as the others’ did, but it was thick and ruddy, the foreskin drawn tightly back from the smooth head.

‘Is that for me?’ he asked, flicking his eyes down at it and giving a little shy smile.

‘Of course it is. Don’t piss about.’ The corner of Nori’s mouth twitched a bit, and he took a last steadying puff at his pipe before laying it aside. ‘What do you propose doing about it?’ He slowly blew the smoke out through his nose in two plumes.

‘Oh, don’t look so fierce and frowning,’ Bilbo said. ‘I propose sucking it till the cream comes out; how’s that?’ He combed his fingertips down over Nori’s chest and stopped, curious. ‘Now what’s this? I hadn’t noticed this before.’

‘Suppose they do get lost in the hair,’ Nori said. Each of his nipples was pierced through by a little rod of red gold, capped at each end with a tiny golden ball. ‘Just a safe way of carrying a bit of emergency money. Like an earring, but harder to lose.’

‘Ha!’ said Kili, and was shushed.

‘But nipples are so sensitive. Didn’t it hurt terribly?’ Bilbo traced around the piercings with his forefinger, enjoying the way Nori’s nipples pricked up when he touched them.

‘Oh, it wasn’t so bad,’ Nori said modestly. ‘Didn’t hurt anything like as much as this.’ He briefly touched a shiny pink scar on his side. ‘That was a stag’s antler.’

‘Which was mounted on the wall of the pub where you got caught using loaded dice, and you got shoved into it,’ Dwalin rumbled. He was sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the edge of the bed, shirtless but still wearing his trousers. ‘Get on with it.’

‘Quiet in the cheap seats,’ said Nori. ‘Bilbo doesn’t want to hear - ah.’ His voice trailed off as Bilbo bent and kissed his nipple, then parted his lips and began to suck it, gazing steadily up at him. ‘Ah, that’s the way. Tickle it with your tongue.’ He sighed happily and slid his fingers into Bilbo’s curls, rubbing a circle on the back of his head. ‘And give it just a little nibble.’ He drew a hissing intake of breath and pressed on Bilbo’s head, pushing his nose into his chest hair. ‘And the other side? Aah... and now... if you’d be so good...’ He gently but firmly pushed down, uncrossing his legs and leaning back as he did so.

Bilbo nestled down between Nori’s thighs, resting on his elbows, and ran his tongue the length of Nori’s cock, from tip to base and back up. He vaguely remembered hearing Bofur say something about Nori being in the bathroom, and he must have washed himself, because there was very little smell to his skin. That was thoughtful of him, but Bilbo rather missed the smell and the strong salty taste. He polished the head with his tongue, feeling smugly proud as Nori grunted and sighed, before popping it into his mouth to suck, gazing up once more to see the effect he was having. That was a delight, finding Nori’s expression completely unguarded now, his eyes blank and hazy with lust, his cheeks flushed deep red and his mouth hanging slightly open. His hands moved over Bilbo’s head, rumpling his hair, fingers clenching and tugging when Bilbo found and worked the most sensitive spot, just under the head of his cock. That brought up the precome, leaking and spreading over Bilbo’s tongue and seeping down his throat as he pulled Nori deeper, swallowing.

‘Oh... now... now don’t... oh, you little... wait now, wait.’ Nori pressed him back, panting. 

‘Thought you wanted the same as the others,’ Bilbo said, sitting up a bit and wiping his mouth.

‘I want to fuck you more. Turn around.’

‘Like this?’ On his knees and elbows, Bilbo lifted his bottom, offering it for inspection.

 _‘Oh_ yes.’ Nori shuffled closer and grasped Bilbo’s buttocks with both hands, digging his fingers in and squeezing the soft flesh. His thumbs pried them apart, and he slid one into the cleft to probe Bilbo’s ring, flushed and puffy, leaking a slick mixture of oil and spunk as Nori pushed in. ‘Oh, look at that. That’s a well-fucked little hole. Room for one more?’

‘Yes... _please.’_ He bit his lip and moaned as he felt Nori’s cock spreading him, nudging inward, its downward curve reshaping his soft insides and putting delicious pressure on his favourite spot. His own cock twitched, although he thought it would be a little while before he could expect it to harden again. He was facing Dwalin now, and their eyes met. Bilbo held his gaze as Nori began thrusting, and had to bite his lip harder not to laugh at how flustered Dwalin looked. Keeping his trousers on did nothing to hide how excited he clearly was; the outline of his swollen cock was perfectly visible, slanted over to the right, a small dark wet patch over the head. After that startled moment in which Dwalin’s eyes widened, he glowered, or made an attempt to do so. This had no effect on Bilbo, who simply gazed back, as steadily as he could while being vigorously fucked from behind, his feeling of elation growing as Dwalin’s face reddened and he finally looked away.

Nori was kneading his buttocks as he ground his hips against them, pressing them together around his cock, his hands eager and rough. Bilbo whimpered, pushing back against him with a convulsive wriggle.

‘D’you mind if I give you a tap?’ Nori panted, slowing for a moment.

‘How do you mean?’

For answer, Nori gave him a very light slap on his bum, not hard enough to sting, but it gave him a little jolt.

‘Don’t _hit_ him,’ Thorin said sharply, off to the left somewhere.

‘No, no, you can... I don’t mind, I... I’ll tell you if it’s too hard.’

‘You heard him,’ Nori said, ploughing in again. After a few brisk strokes he slapped Bilbo’s bottom again, making the right cheek bounce and jiggle, pressing and squeezing where the skin flushed red. A few moments later it was the left, and this time it definitely did sting. Heat rushed to the surface and Bilbo moaned.

‘Ah, d’you like that?’ Another, and another.

‘Mmmhh...’ His ring was pounding with heat and pleasure, the feeling inside was twice that, and the force of Nori’s thrusts was making their balls slap together and his cock bounce wildly. Each slap only made him tingle more. It was getting harder and harder to hold himself up.

‘You’ve got _such_ a good arse. Fat and sweet.’ Another hard slap on the right, rapidly followed by the left, as if keeping them even mattered when he was in such a state. ‘I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Find something to bite.’ He slid his hands up Bilbo’s back and pushed his shoulders down, then drove his hips down with a sharp shove of his own. Bilbo cried out and clutched at the sheets under him, feeling a glorious spike of heat go up his spine. He was nailed to the bed by the force of Nori’s pumping, his strong hands slipping in the sweat on his shoulders and grabbing harder, and their cries and grunts rose together. The pleasure was huge, but so was the relief when Nori gave a few final, punching thrusts and flopped down on Bilbo’s back, panting. 

Bilbo lay still, breathing deeply, feeling his heart kicking in his chest and thinking that he could feel Nori’s too, against his back. His skin felt molten with sweat and he could feel that the sheet under him was wet. And oh, the luxurious weight and heat of the body covering him, pressing him down. The corners of his mouth curled in a deeply satisfied smile. Nori was making faint little moaning sounds, winding down from the fierce grunts of his climax. His head rested just at the top of Bilbo’s back, cheek against the little knob where spine became neck, and his hands slid down his upper arms, loosening and softening their grasp. His cock was still firmly wedged in, warm, syrupy come seeping and trickling out around its shaft.

‘Did you come?’ Nori murmured, stroking his arm.

‘Mmm... not quite, but I loved it.’

‘Well... I’ve finally fucked you the way I really wanted to.’ Nori kissed the back of Bilbo’s neck, appreciatively. ‘I’ll just have to make sure you do next time.’

‘Mmmmm...’ Bilbo wriggled his bottom and stretched out his toes.

‘I’m getting up now.’ Nori gave him another kiss and eased himself up on his hands and knees, his cock slipping free with a wet pop. ‘Have to piss. Sorry about the mess.’

‘I’m not.’ Bilbo rolled onto his back as Nori crawled away, and lay with one arm over his eyes, catching his breath. ‘Um. Dwalin?’

(to be continued obviously)


	9. Delightful and Satisfactory, IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sex therapy for Dwalin.  
> Incidentally, if anyone reading this thinks, 'gosh, I like this story, I'd like to draw pictures inspired by it but I'm shy about asking permission' - IT IS GRANTED. I would LOVE to see illustrations if anybody artistic feels like producing them.

We are honour bound to mention, at this stage, Dr Araminta Sackville-Baggins' objection that at no stage is it clear when Bilbo removed or was divested of his shirt. Scholarly opinion is divided on whether this omission is a sign of inauthenticity (her contention) or simply an authorial lapse.

* * *

‘I... I need a little rest first, but I do want you next.’ Bilbo struggled up onto his elbows, then sat up properly. ‘Could I have a drink of water?’ He felt rubber-legged and swoony, but the smile on his face was going nowhere.

‘Right away!’ Fili left off groping Kili, who slumped over a pillow with a little whine, and hastened to bring Bilbo a glass. The water had gone lukewarm in the jug, as the room was very snug and growing more so. He swigged it down gratefully, a little spilling from the corner of his mouth and running down his neck.

‘Now you’re drinking like a dwarf,’ Fili said, smiling. ‘D’you want anything else? Bite to eat? Honey’s good, gives you energy without filling you up.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ said Bilbo, amused. ‘You can’t teach _me_ anything about food.’

Fili laughed, and kissed him.

‘Now then, it’s not your turn yet.’

‘Oh, a little kiss never hurt anyone. And we’re all in love with you; you know that.’ Fili gave him his most charming smile, and rolled back to his brother.

‘Right,’ said Dwalin. He got to his feet, kicked back his chair, and began unlacing his flies with quick, impatient movements. His boots and socks were already off, very practical.

‘Don’t rush,’ Bilbo said, shuffling over on his knees. ‘I’d like to help.’ Dwalin’s hands went still immediately as Bilbo’s reached in, deftly unpicking the knot the laces had got into and loosening them. The laces slid through their holes as the front of Dwalin’s trousers tented out, his trapped cock sliding partway forward. Bilbo kept his eyes down, but he could hear Dwalin breathing heavily, through his nose, only just controlled. He turned his hands, placing his palms against Dwalin’s hard, hairy paunch, and slipped his fingertips down just inside the waistband. The breathing quickened; he could actually feel the gust of it on top of his head, ruffling his sweat-damp hair. He pressed lightly for a moment, then skimmed his palms around Dwalin’s sides, round to rest at the small of his back, fingers just touching the tops of his buttocks. He curled his fingers, letting the edges of his nails brush over the skin, and felt Dwalin shudder. The hair under his fingers bristled and stood up in gooseflesh.

Bilbo looked up with just a trace of a smile. Dwalin was crimson, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. The blush even extended up over his scalp, making his tattoos look darker, and down his neck, fanning out over his thickly muscled chest. Holding his dark, thunderous gaze, Bilbo slid his hands downward, spreading his fingers to clutch Dwalin’s solid rump.

Wondering just how far he could push his luck now, he quietly asked, ‘What do you want to do to me?’

He was expecting to be thrown on his back and ravished; he thought he’d thoroughly enjoy that. Instead, Dwalin surprised him, touching his chin with a hand that shook very slightly, tipping it up, and kissed him, still breathing gustily against his cheek. It was a shockingly soft kiss, until he parted his lips and coaxed Dwalin on, teasing the tender centre of his top lip with the tip of his tongue. Then Dwalin wound his arms around him and sealed his mouth to Bilbo’s, a deep, growling sigh rising from his chest to his lips.

Bilbo tugged Dwalin’s trousers down, over his hips, and felt his cock swing free and pat stickily against his own belly. His own hips twitched forward reflexively, and he felt a little fillip of excitement, his cock waking up and stiffening again. He pressed up to Dwalin to let him feel that, rubbing lightly, still kissing him, running one hand up his back, ruffling through bristly hair and over heavy bunching muscle. Dwalin felt so _tense,_ hard as iron. He drew back from the kiss, a strand of salive stretching between their lips and falling against his chin, and looked down between them, his pale soft tummy and Dwalin’s pelt of hair nicked through with scars, his pink cock looking particularly small and chubby beside Dwalin’s garnet-headed monster. 

No, he shouldn’t think of it as a monster. There was nothing grotesque or frightening about it except its unusual size, as thick as his wrist, and he would guess about nine or ten inches long. It looked angry, but then so did Dwalin, and he was beginning to suspect that was either a mask he was wearing or something he simply couldn’t help, any more than he could help the face Bofur had tried to show him. He wrapped his hand around Dwalin’s cock, sliding down along its length, admiring the tracery of veins in its sides. Of course cocks didn’t have muscles, or you would be able to move them on their own, but Dwalin’s was one of those that looked as if it did. 

Under the table that evening he had needed to use his hands a great deal to bring him off; he simply couldn’t fit much of that cock in his mouth at a time. Licking all over its silky head, he had squeezed and rubbed the heavy shaft until he felt a pulse coming up it, followed by thick spurts of sharp-smelling spunk that painted his face and ran down his neck to soak his shirt collar. Of course he couldn’t see Dwalin’s face when he did that, but he imagined it had been as red and glowering as it was now. He covered the head with his palm and gently swivelled it, spreading the oily precome, and looked up again. ‘What _do_ you want to do to me?’

‘Would you lie down?’ Dwalin asked. His voice was somewhere between a growl and a whisper, as if an avalanche were trying to be very quiet.

‘Of course. Like this?’ Bilbo lay on his back, his bottom near the edge of the bed, his legs apart and his knees raised.

‘That’ll do.’ Dwalin lifted Bilbo’s feet, propping them against his shoulders. His eyes flicked rapidly up to Bilbo’s face and back down.

‘It’s quite all right,’ Bilbo said. ‘You know you won’t hurt me. Remember before? How you lifted me and fitted me down on it?’

‘Even so, I’m being careful,’ Dwalin muttered. He gripped Bilbo’s thighs and pulled him nearer, right to the edge of the mattress.

‘And just look at my bum. Do you see how soft and stretched open it is? All sloppy and creamy and ready for you?’ Bilbo slid his hands down his sides and under his buttocks, parting them as he lifted his hips. He felt a little blurt of warm liquid escape and trickle down under him.

Dwalin grunted and gave him a kind of beseeching look from under his frowning brows. ‘Hold still, then,’ he said. He took his cock in hand, set the head of it to the soft, swollen pink flesh and started to push.

‘Look at it go _in,’_ whispered Kili, sounding awed. He rose up enough from Fili’s arms to get a better view.

‘Shh, you’ll put him off,’ Fili murmured, drawing him back down.

Bilbo’s breathing had grown shallow and fluttery as Dwalin bore in, awed at just how full he was, and feeling a tremendous, bumptious pride at his ability to take this. His ring had gone from feeling loose and sloppy to taut and snug, stretched around Dwalin’s girth, and the sensation of shifting and filling down low in his belly was extraordinary. There was a limit, of course; Dwalin bumped up against something tight and unyielding with no more than two-thirds of his length inside, but that was more than the first time, which had really only been the head and an inch or so below it. For a long moment they both simply panted.

‘Is that - d’you...’ Dwalin stammered.

‘I _do_ wish you’d fuck me.’

At first the motion of Dwalin’s hips was hesitant and jerky, doing little for Bilbo, who liked a smooth rolling or grinding stroke at this stage, but as his breathing deepened he steadied, sliding in and out, his cock oily-wet and streaked with the others’ come, and Bilbo began to moan softly, his twitching hands stroking his own chest and belly. Besides the pleasure of friction in his ring and the glorious gliding pressure over the inner sweet spot, there was whatever that was far inside that Dwalin kept bumping and nuzzling on his deepest strokes. It was a decidedly strange sensation, but one that he liked more each time it happened. It made him catch his breath and alternately curl and splay his toes. His erection usually slackened a bit when someone was inside him, sometimes slipping to half-mast, but Dwalin had softened him completely. Big, coarse hands ran up and down his thighs, tightening and squeezing as Dwalin grunted and sighed. 

‘Please,’ he breathed, ‘a bit faster, can you go a bit faster?’

Dwalin grunted again, giving a flick of his head that he must have meant for a nod, and quickened his pace, drawing a little whimper out of Bilbo. He grabbed handfuls of the sheets under him and held tight. Sweet, sharp little jolts were going through him now, and he could hear the beginning of a rhythmic clapping, in time with Dwalin’s thrusts.

‘No bloody singing,’ Dwalin growled, still pumping away.

‘Wa-hey, Dwalin!’ shouted Kili. ‘Fuck him, he loves it!’

‘Come on, Dwalin!’ cried Fili. Bilbo could feel them bouncing on the bed in their enthusiasm, and rolled his eyes as they set up a chant of ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Someone pounded on the wall shared with the next bedroom, and either Oin or Gloin bellowed ‘Keep it down in there!’ Fili and Kili, red-faced and giggling helplessly, went on chanting ‘fuck’ in a whisper as they clapped. Bilbo was getting well beyond caring, in any case; he was starting to see and feel stars, and although his cock could not quite harden up again it was having a damn good try. He arched his back, whimpering and grunting, lifting his bottom from the bed in fitful twitches, and a great broken cry burst out of him together with a thin spit of spunk. Limp and dizzy and elated, he felt Dwalin pounding into him until he came to a shuddering halt, his cock twitching and jerking as he bent double over Bilbo’s body, almost falling forward and catching himself with both hands planted on the mattress. The onlookers erupted into cheers and applause.

He leaned there a long time, his breathing a harsh rasp interspersed with growling moans, his head hanging. Bilbo lifted one hand and reached out to stroke his smooth crown, and he looked up. It was the softest he had ever seen Dwalin’s face look - he couldn’t be said to be smiling, but his permanent frown had relaxed, making him look oddly younger.

‘Is that a pat on the head for a good boy?’ he asked gruffly. He ran his gaze down over Bilbo’s body and stopped, blinking. Bilbo had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when he ran a forefinger through the white spatter on his belly and tasted it, to make sure of what it was. ‘You came,’ he said, sounding honestly surprised.

‘Of course I came,’ Bilbo said fondly. ‘You’re a _very_ good boy. Man, dwarf, sorry.’

‘Well, I’ll...’ Dwalin shook his head and lowered himself onto his elbows to give Bilbo another kiss, though he didn’t linger over it. ‘Thanks.’ He stood up and pulled out, and acknowledged the audience with both arms raised over his head and a triumphant roar. They roared back, with cheers and laughter and vigorous gestures of fist and forearm, and Thorin clapped him on the back and thrust a mug of beer into his hands. Bilbo would have felt rather forgotten, except that Fili and Kili helped him to sit up, with much kissing and back-patting and hair-stroking.

‘Half-time!’ Fili called out. ‘He needs a little rest.’ Bilbo was sitting with his feet dangling off the side of the bed and his hands on his knees, catching his breath. ‘Don’t stay there - you’ll fall off. Give me a hand, Kili - one, two, three, hup.’ They each put an arm around Bilbo’s back and a hand under one knee and, shuffling sideways on their knees, lifted him back to the centre bed to rest against the pillows. 

‘Want a drink?’ Kili asked.

_‘Yes.’_

‘Right you are.’ He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder and leaned in to kiss him again. ‘You’re quite a remarkable fellow, Mr Baggins.’

They nestled in on either side of him, plied him with wine and fed him honey from their fingers, then from their lips, until they were all thoroughly sticky and entangled.

‘We’ve waited for you this time,’ Fili murmured against his neck. ‘Properly. With our cocks aching and burning for you and our balls turning to stone.’

‘Piffle. You two are far more in love with each other than you are with me.’

‘Never said we weren’t,’ Kili said, bending to lick Bilbo’s nipple, his hand circling over his tummy. ‘If I pressed on your belly would you squirt out come?’

‘I don’t think I want to find out.’

‘You must be so full, though. Like... like...’

‘A cream puff?’

‘What are they like?’

‘Delicious. I’ll make you some tomorrow.’

‘Dear, sweet, generous Mr Baggins, giving us this lovely party tonight and making us treats tomorrow.’ Kili nuzzled against Bilbo’s chest, sucking his already puffy nipple until it throbbed.

‘But you might be too tired tomorrow, so let’s enjoy you as much as we can now,’ Fili said. ‘Lift up.’ Kili helped Bilbo forward, on his knees, while Fili got into position behind him, sitting back against the pillows with his legs spread, his cock jutting up proudly and steadied with one hand. ‘Now if you’ll just back yourself onto it... ahh... lovely. And lean back onto me, I’ll hold you up.’ With his arms around Bilbo’s waist, he kissed him on the cheek. ‘Easier than the first time, isn’t it.’

‘I should say so.’ He was so tender now, from multiple penetrations, that he still had to hold up his hand and signal them to wait a little before Kili shuffled in on his knees, lifted Bilbo’s legs, and drove his cock in over the top of his brother’s. They sandwiched him closely, Kili kissing his mouth, Fili the back of his neck, before they kissed each other over his shoulder as he panted, his eyes fluttering closed.

‘Oh, by the way, they’re at it again,’ Bilbo heard Bofur say, and he felt the creaks in the bed and heard the murmurs of interest and admiration as the others gathered around them. _Just this,_ he thought, bargaining with his tired body, _and then Thorin, and then I’ll have a good long sleep, I really will._ He wound his arms around Kili’s shoulders as he began to rock into him, the two thick hard cocks sliding over one another, Fili and Kili sighing and murmuring to each other contentedly. It occurred to him, in a hazy way, that they weren’t fucking _him_ so much as they were fucking each other _through_ him. He found he rather liked that, strange as their little love-affair was. The motion of their warm bodies was fluid and soothing and he only realised he had dozed for a few moments when he woke as they quickened their pace. They were breathing fast and moaning, panting against his neck and shoulders, Kili clutching at his thighs, thumbs digging into their soft inners. They managed to come together, their lovely young faces shining with joy and satisfaction.

‘Now,’ Thorin said, leaning in and taking Kili’s shoulders, gently but firmly pulling him back from Bilbo, ‘I think you two should curl up together and let me have Mr Baggins back.’

‘Aahhh...’ Kili said lazily, letting his head roll over against Thorin’s shoulder. ‘Can’t move.’

‘Yes you can, my lad.’ There was just a faint warning tone in Thorin’s otherwise warm voice, and Kili seemed to respond to it, for he shuffled back on his bottom and let Thorin reach between him and Fili to scoop Bilbo up. He didn’t lift him far, just to the nearest clear bit of the bed, where he laid him down on his back and lay close beside him, his head propped up on his hand, and ran his hand gently up and down over Bilbo’s chest and belly. Bilbo lay drowsily gazing up at him, and lifted a hand to stroke Thorin’s hair where it fell over his shoulder.

‘How’s my burglar?’ Thorin asked. His voice was a husky rumble.

‘Quite all right. I just need to get my second wind.’ Bilbo stopped, and yawned. ‘Perhaps my third... or fourth or fifth,’ he admitted with a little smile.

‘Sixth?’ Thorin asked, bending to kiss him, sucking gently at his upper lip.

‘Sixth would be lovely.’

‘Confession,’ Thorin murmured, nuzzling down along his jawline.

‘Mm?’

‘I brought myself off watching you with Dwalin.’

‘Oh...’ Bilbo tipped back his head, offering his throat for kissing.

‘Mm.’ Thorin laid a slow, deliberate trail down the centre of Bilbo’s neck, nuzzling at last into the notch of his collarbones. ‘Or I could be nothing like as calm as I am now.’ He nipped a little pinch of skin and sucked it until it flushed red. ‘Do you know you have handprints on your shoulders still? Your thighs? You’re quite bruised.’

‘Hadn’t noticed.’

‘I’ll nurse you tomorrow, but I’ll fuck you tonight.’ Thorin rolled and lifted himself, arching over Bilbo’s body on his knees and elbows, and kissed him deeply, running his palms down his sides to hold and lift his hips. Bilbo wrapped his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist, clinging breathlessly to Thorin as he entered and covered him. With their mouths and bodies sealed together, they began to roll one against another. Thorin was moaning deep in his throat, underpinning Bilbo’s whimpers and grunts with a lower note that thrummed in his lips and tongue. They neither of them needed long, swiftly working one another up to a blissful state and crashing down together with a mingled groan. 

 

Bilbo fell asleep under Thorin, and woke some time later from the combined discomfort of his weight and an acutely full bladder. His mouth was dry and his head thumping, and he thought a hangover might be on its way. Everyone had fallen asleep around them, nobody having troubled to put out any of the lamps, which were burning low. He tried to worm his way out from under Thorin without waking him and failed on both points, still firmly stuck under him when Thorin lifted his head, blinking and frowning.

‘You all right?’ he mumbled.

‘I need the loo,’ Bilbo whispered back. ‘Let me up.’

‘V’ry sorry,’ Thorin said, evidently still half asleep, and levered himself up. He rolled on his back and scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair as Bilbo sat up. ‘Just the pot, or do you need to go downstairs?’

‘Downstairs,’ Bilbo whispered. He cautiously climbed over a snoring Dwalin and tried to let himself down to the floor gently. His head swayed as he did and he realised that he was still quite tipsy. His bum was acutely sore and his stomach quite unsettled. He had to stop, leaning on the side of the bed and catching his breath.

‘I’ll take you,’ Thorin said, his voice still drowsy and slurred. He slid down from the bed and offered Bilbo his back. ‘Hup.’

‘I can’t ride you everywhere,’ Bilbo said, clambering on. ‘S’undignified.’

‘I make a special exception for when you’re drunk.’

‘Then you’re my shaggy pony.’ He rested his cheek against Thorin’s thick hair, almost dozing off again as he carried him downstairs, and waking with a bump as Thorin set him down in the bathroom and helped him into the lavatory. After concluding that it was unwise to attempt to pee standing, he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands while the world fell out of his bottom, and Thorin rather considerately pretended not to hear any of it, being occupied in washing himself with a basin of cold water.

 _‘Are_ you all right?’ Thorin asked, coming back to the doorway of the little side-room that held two lavatories, or more precisely a bench with two seat-holes cut in it, and a drop to the water beneath.

‘Shouldn’t have so much to drink,’ Bilbo said, shrugging. ‘Doesn’t agree with me in the end. I think... I think I forgot for a bit that I’m not actually young any more. I don’t bounce back as well.’ He lifted his head to look at Thorin, framed in the doorway. ‘Do you mind a chap sitting on a toilet telling you that you’re quite beautiful? You are.’

‘It’s not how I _prefer_ to be complimented,’ Thorin said drily. ‘I’ve lit the fire for when you’re ready.’

Although more tubs had been brought in to accommodate all the dwarves, and filled from buckets and kettles brought from the kitchen, the main bath was a large affair, filled by a pump and built over a firebox that quickly heated the water from beneath. When Bilbo tottered out of the lavatory, feeling drained but somewhat improved, he found Thorin soaking, his hair draped over the rim of the bath. He had left a small upturned tub where Bilbo could use it as a step up, and he clambered in and lay against Thorin’s chest. Thorin grunted faintly and wrapped his arms around him.

‘What time do you think it is?’ he asked after a moment.

‘Don’t know; don’t care. Still dark outside.’ Thorin rubbed his chin on top of Bilbo’s head, and his hand strayed to his chest to play with the wisp of hair in the middle. ‘Have I ever described to you the bathrooms of Erebor?’

‘No, you have not.’

‘Ignorant men and elves think that dwarves are unsanitary because we live under the earth. You live under the earth, so you know how wrong that is. Our bathrooms are... are ablutionary palaces. The King’s Bath, in the heart of the mountain, is carved of the purest white marble, polished to the sheen of silk, and filled by a hot mineral spring piped up from deep underground. It stands in a vaulted chamber hewn from the living rock, its walls and ceiling intricately carved and set with silver, gold and mosaics of rich gems. The acoustics are marvellous. You could hear my grandfather singing every morning.’

‘Was he a jolly old gentleman?’ asked Bilbo, rather liking the sound of a grandfather who sang in the bath. The Old Took mostly farted there.

‘He was... he was a mighty king,’ Thorin said, and Bilbo, with a wince, remembered just too late that he was asking about a grandfather that Thorin had seen beheaded, surely a sore subject even when recalling a pleasant memory.

‘I’m sure he would be very proud of you,’ he said hastily. ‘And you’ll often sit in that bath and sing just beautifully.’

‘To you, perhaps,’ said Thorin, allowing himself to be directed along a happier path. ‘I would show you the King’s Bed, too - though I dare say it very badly needs to be aired.’ He raised a wet hand and pinched the tip of Bilbo’s ear. ‘Tactful Mr Baggins.’

‘Very sleepy Mr Baggins. If I stay here much longer I might become drowned Mr Baggins. Will you take me back to the temporary and no doubt inferior king’s bed?’

‘Gladly.’


	10. Delightful and Satisfactory, V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter of Bagginshield mush, and a conversation with Dori, who informed me that I was not dragging Ori into this.  
> This chapter comes with a reference picture, because I was, um, inspired by this: [distinctly NSFW art by ladynorthstar.](http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/post/41902759623/i-will-admit-with-no-shame-that-i-was-watching-gay)

Bilbo woke slowly, by gradual stages, wrapped up in soft sheets and Thorin’s warm, furry body. His cheek was pressed to Thorin’s chest, one large hand cupped loosely behind his head and the other under his bottom. He lay still for a little while, both appreciating the embrace and mentally taking stock. His shoulders were slightly achy, though not badly. His bottom was predictably sore and hot, but tolerable. Stomach, still unhappy, and head, very poor indeed. He badly needed a cup of tea and some thin dry toast. The only likely way to acquire those was to wake Thorin, and he found himself unwilling to do that when he looked so peaceful and contented. 

Instead he let his thoughts roam back over the night before, with great pride and complacency. Six, like the old days, and if he wouldn’t have been able to take any more, well, that was more than accounted for by the fact that they were six big strong dwarves, not young hobbits. Quite beside the size differences, his boyhood friends had tended to finish a good deal more quickly. All things considered, he was outperforming his younger self. How very pleasing.

He _was_ a foolish creature, he thought, because even as he was thinking how sore and tired he was, the thought of his conquests was making his cock plump up again. He scooted up a little and kissed Thorin on the chin.

‘Wake up,’ he murmured. ‘You’re needed.’ He kissed his lips softly, plucking at the upper, then the lower one. Thorin seemed to respond before he was really awake, nuzzling back. He woke with a soft, deep grunt and rolled Bilbo onto his back, smothering him slightly before he lifted his head and looked down at him.

‘Good morning, bunny.’

Bilbo sighed, very mildly irritated. ‘I would object more to the “bunny” remarks, but it occurs to me that you’ve stopped calling me “halfling,” and I suppose bunny is at least preferable to that.’

‘I don’t call you a bunny in front of the others,’ Thorin pointed out, ‘and fear not, I don’t mean to.’ He kissed Bilbo’s nose. ‘“Halfling” was just me being wrong about you. A bad habit of which I’ve broken myself. Now why did you wake me so sweetly?’

Bilbo rubbed his erection against Thorin’s belly and gave him an encouraging smile, arching his eyebrows.

‘Ah. And what would you like me to do about that?’

For answer, Bilbo kissed him, and without much subtlety, sucked his tongue.

‘Ah. Now, I won’t do that in front of the others either. I should mention that now.’

‘The King Under the Mountain sucks cocks,’ Bilbo whispered under the curtain of Thorin’s hair.

‘Just one. One little hobbit cock.’ Thorin shifted to lie on his hip, beside Bilbo, and wrapped his hand around it, gently kneading.

‘Less of the little.’

‘Cock of a little hobbit, not little cock of a hobbit.’

‘Are you calling me a little cock of a hobbit?’

‘Well, I am now.’ Thorin’s hand moved steadily as he bent to kiss Bilbo again, softening his words. ‘You little cock of a hobbit. That was a very kind thing you did for Dwalin, though.’

‘I thought it was rather a kind thing Dwalin did for me. I certainly enjoyed it.’

‘As did I.’ A kiss just below his ear, a deep soft exhalation on his skin. ‘I shall have to have a word with Nori about the way he handles you, though.’

‘No no no, you shan’t, I can have a word with him on my own behalf. Ooh...’ He caught his lower lip under his teeth and breathed in deeply.

‘Would the word be ooh?’

‘Might be. Will you? Please?’

‘Is this a hangover cure?’

‘Yes. It will cure your hangover completely.’

‘I mean for you, little liar.’ Thorin backed down the bed on his knees and elbows, taking the covers with him, and kissed Bilbo’s cock wetly. He drew it into his mouth and suckled, gazing up at Bilbo.

‘You’ve such... such lovely eyes. And oh, a lovely tongue!’ He ground his bottom into the mattress as Thorin pulled up, gently stretching his foreskin with the suction.

‘Mm?’

‘Ooh! Ooh, do that, hum. Nice and deep. Hum... and suck... and stroke it with your tongue.’ He combed his fingers into Thorin’s hair, feeling quite infatuated. ‘Oh, your beautiful face.’

Thorin pulled up again, his lips parting with a moist pop, and turned to licking up and down the plump pink shaft, his cheeks growing more flushed, his eyes still not leaving Bilbo’s.

‘Oh... oh please... that’s lovely, but please suck again, please, _yes,_ just like that, p... p... pop your tongue in... in the little... there in the head! there!’ Bilbo arched back, losing sight of Thorin in the fireworks behind his eyes. He tangled his fingers in thick soft hair, pulling heedlessly as his cock was enveloped again and stroked and sucked, Thorin humming deep and low, until the sensation was absolutely perfect and he was shivering with joy and release. He lay sprawled limply on the bed, uttering little whimpers and smothered giggles while Thorin kissed his way back up over his tummy to his chest to his neck to his lips.

‘Now I’m like this,’ Thorin breathed, guiding Bilbo’s hand to his cock, hard and warm. ‘What should we do? I don’t think I can put it in now.’

‘Oh, no. No, my bum’s shut up shop for now. Put up its shutters and taken in its sign. Call again tomorrow. Would you like to just pop it between my legs for now?’

‘Yes. _Yes._ Let me find that oil...’ Thorin slid his slick cock between Bilbo’s soft thighs, pressed tightly together, cramming wet kisses into his mouth as he pumped his hips. ‘My darling, my little burglar, my own little, oh, my own, my, my, oh...’ Then all was incoherent moaning and gasping until he spent in Bilbo’s lap and melted into his arms.

When his breathing had steadied a little he lifted his head from Bilbo’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. ‘We used to do this, you know,’ he said.

‘We who?’

‘Dwalin and I. Long ago, when we were much younger and many things were different. He used to pull my hair too, so there’s one more thing you have in common.’

‘Oh.’ Bilbo felt rather touched by the confidence, and a little guilty that he had almost destroyed one of Thorin’s lovely braids. He seemed to be forgiven for that already, though, with Thorin giving him this warm, adoring look.

‘I couldn’t take him inside me, for obvious reasons, but... well.’ Thorin stroked Bilbo’s hair back from his forehead and kissed the middle of it. ‘I loved seeing you with him. You were where I wanted to be, but couldn’t, so many times.’

‘Didn’t that make you feel badly?’ Bilbo asked, puzzled.

‘It could have, were it anyone but you.’ Thorin lifted himself off Bilbo and pulled the covers back up, nestling behind him with his arms around his waist. ‘But you, as you know, are very special.’ He kissed the nape of Bilbo’s neck. ‘Hangover cured?’

‘Not really, but very, very happy.’

They slept again for a while, and lay abed even when they were quite awake. Thorin padded off in a dressing-gown to secure toast and the nearest he could get to tea, a brew of dried peppermint leaves, and carefully rubbed arnica salve on Bilbo’s bruises. He persisted in calling them handprints, though in Bilbo’s opinion they were only a few finger-marks.

‘And now, to repay me, you may brush my hair.’ He presented Bilbo with a brush and sat, cross-legged, with his back to him. ‘Unravel the braids first, and break up any tangles with your fingers.’

‘I’ll try my best, but hair like this is a bit beyond me.’ It was lovely to comb his fingers through the rippling length of it, though, to drape it over his hands and let it fall again over Thorin’s broad back, to brush it until it gently crackled, and to press his nose and lips into the soft mass of it and breathe in its rich oily smell.

‘And now, I’ll teach you how to braid it.’

Bilbo picked up the essentials quickly, but was prone to being distracted in favour of kissing Thorin, then losing his grip on the strands in hand so that they all unravelled again; indeed, he came under suspicion of doing it on purpose before the job was done.

‘Now yours,’ said Thorin.

‘My hair is too short,’ Bilbo objected, ‘and I’ll look silly.’

‘Humour me,’ Thorin coaxed him, and Bilbo allowed him to gather his hair into two braids that ran close to his head, from the temples and around to meet at the back, where he secured them with a hinged silver bead. Admittedly, wisps were escaping before the bead closed, but Thorin seemed well pleased with the effect.

‘Ready to be presented at court,’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon,’ Bilbo said, ‘no member of my family has _ever_ been up in court. Well, except on very minor charges. Or if you mean the royal court under the mountain, I hope I would have more clothes on.’

‘Oh yes. At least a shirt.’

While Thorin was dozing again, Bilbo crept out of bed and dressed, in clothes from the chest given to Thorin. They required much turning up at the cuffs, but once he was decent he padded out of the room, walking a trifle delicately, in hope of finding something good to eat. His appetite was recovering and he was fairly sure he was overdue for elevenses. The place seemed to be quiet, and he met no-one until he entered the kitchen and found Dori, standing on a stool at the table and cutting out scones.

‘Oh, hallo,’ he said, surprised.

‘Good morning, Mr Baggins,’ Dori said politely. 

‘I didn’t know you baked,’ he observed, taking an apple from a bowl and having a bite.

‘A bit, when we’re at home,’ Dori said. ‘Yesterday’s afternoon tea was so nice and civilised, I thought I would make a few things for today’s. These are the plain scones, but I’ll make cheese and herb ones next.’

‘That sounds excellent. D’you want me to grate some cheese for you, ready?’

‘That would be very helpful.’ Dori continued to cut out scones while Bilbo found cheese, a knife and a grater and set to work, kneeling on a chair. ‘Quite well this morning?’ he asked, still very politely.

Bilbo felt rather self-conscious; the neck of this shirt gaped rather on him, and he was fairly sure a finger-bruise was visible. A few love-bites certainly were. ‘Yes. Thanks,’ he said shortly, and cut off a bit of cheese to eat. It was lovely and sharp and nutty.

‘We had a good night’s sleep,’ Dori went on, ‘because I had the foresight to use wax ear-plugs, and had Ori do the same. We entirely missed what I’m told was a vigorous chant of profanities.’

‘Um. Yes. I’m sorry about the profanities; they weren’t my idea.’

‘Do you not find it all rather degrading,’ Dori said anxiously, putting down the glass he was using as a cutter, ‘to have them all using you that way?’

‘Well,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully, ‘I suppose I _might_ find it degrading if they _were_ using me. But you see, I don’t feel at all used. I’m having the most marvellous time. Everyone is kind and considerate of me, and - well, I must say, Dori, nobody seems to object except for you. Why _are_ you so set against it?’

Dori shook his head, arranging the scones on two baking trays. ‘I don’t expect you to understand.’

‘But I might if you explained,’ Bilbo said. ‘Won’t you try?’

‘I’m trying to protect Ori,’ Dori said, stepping down from his stool and carrying the trays to the oven.

‘From what? I’m not going to try to seduce him. And - well, I’m no judge of dwarves’ ages, but he _is_ a grown-up, isn’t he? Not a child?’

‘It’s a dwarvish thing. You wouldn’t understand,’ Dori repeated, closing the oven door.

‘But I’m spending so much time among dwarves, and growing so fond of some, I really think I ought.’

Dori emitted a loud, nasal sigh, checked the clock, climbed onto his stool again and began measuring out flour and butter. ‘Mr Baggins, apart from your bedroom proclivities, you have always been, I think, a respectable hobbit?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘And I am a respectable dwarf, and I want Ori to be one as well. This isn’t easy. We start off with a family disadvantage.’

‘D’you mean Nori?’ Bilbo ventured, still grating away, the back of his neck feeling hot.

‘Nori... adds to the problem, but he isn’t the source of it. Firstly, well, we’re related to the House of Durin. You do know that?’

‘Most of the Company are related, I think. Except Bofur’s family.’

‘Right. But _we_ are descended on the wrong side of the blanket. I trust I don’t have to spell that out to you.’ Dori began rubbing the cut butter into the flour with quick, fastidious movements.

‘Oh. No, no, these things happen in the Shire too.’

‘So there is that. Not fatal in itself. But then there’s Mother. Now, Mr Baggins, my mother is a dear, good, warm-hearted woman and I will not hear a word spoken against her. The trouble is, I _have_ heard many words spoken against her. Nori and I both have; I’ve managed to protect Ori from it.’

‘What’s - what do people think is wrong with your mother?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Do you know the saying “Dwarves love once”?’

Bilbo shook his head.

‘Well, it’s one of our oldest sayings. It’s frequently cited to prove our loyalty, our fidelity, the depth of our affections. We give our hearts just once in all our long lives. We marry just once. A widowed dwarf is widowed for life. You see?’

‘Yes...’ Bilbo said, nodding uncertainly.

‘My mother has been married three times,’ Dori said, holding up three buttery fingers just in case Bilbo hadn’t quite heard the number. _‘Three._ My brothers and I have different fathers.’

‘But if she was properly, decently married each time...’ Bilbo began.

‘That doesn’t signify! Three! And so the gossips say, how could she degrade herself so, how could she insult my father’s memory so, how quickly she must have forgotten him - and the next - how could the _men_ stoop so low, a woman like _that_ , light, loose, it’s the children I feel sorry for - well, Mr Baggins, if they felt so sorry for us they might have said a little less! Please pass the baking-powder!’ He banged the mixing-bowl on the tabletop quite violently.

‘Uh - oh, yes, here, by all means.’

‘Nori has always gone his own way, and a pretty mess he’s made of it, but I don’t want that to happen to Ori. He’s a good, sweet boy - the best of our mother is in him, and the less said about his wretched father the better. And so very gifted, with his writing and his drawing! I believe he’ll do great things, and be accepted by the best people on the strength of his talent. So I don’t want the least blot on his reputation to get in the way of that. The milk-jug, please.’ Dori had to calm himself to measure out the milk without spilling any, and sighed as he stirred it in. ‘And to tell you the truth... I don’t want to lose my little boy. I want him to be innocent for as long as possible. I think Nori knew about these things far too soon. Too curious.’ He shook his head. ‘Barely forty when he began... putting himself about.’

‘Ah,’ Bilbo said. ‘You know, I think I do understand a little better. Thank you for telling me all that.’

‘Please... don’t speak of it to anyone else,’ Dori said. ‘These are family troubles. The others needn’t know.’

‘Of course,’ Bilbo said, and nodded firmly, sliding the bowl of grated cheese over to Dori. ‘About afternoon tea. I was thinking of a seed-cake today, and perhaps a butter-cake with chocolate icing?’

Dori looked at him appraisingly, before nodding as if he had decided to trust him. ‘And perhaps gingerbread,’ he said. ‘My brothers are very fond of gingerbread.’


	11. Delightful and Satisfactory, VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Bilbofur chapter. Because they are lovely.

Thorin seemed a trifle disappointed that Bilbo had not chosen to spend the whole day in bed with him, but occupied himself contentedly enough through the afternoon by stringing and tuning a harp he had been given by an admirer. Having politely declined other invitations for that evening, explaining that they were rather tired and alluding obliquely to lingering after-effects of travel by barrel, the dwarves decided to have a musical evening in. 

Bilbo sat on a cushion on the hearth-rug in the largest sitting-room of the house, making toast and roasting chestnuts over the fire, and listening avidly to their long, strange songs, particularly those in which Thorin’s sonorous voice led. They sang sagas of their ancestors, tales of battles with goblins and the slaying of dragons, stories of heroism, virtue rewarded, and the luck of seventh sons. Bofur performed a comic song about a dwarvish underdog hero that had him wheezing with laughter, and Fili and Kili managed a two-part patter-song so intricate and rapid that he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. Then Oin and Gloin managed to outdo them _while_ farting in tune. When pressed, he got up and regaled them with ‘Hey Ho, to the Bottle I Go.’

At last, it grew late, and the dwarves grew more serious. As if to remind themselves of what lay ahead, and why they had come so far, they softly sang ‘Misty Mountains Cold.’ Bilbo stared very hard at the fire and hoped that he looked as if he was thinking about long-forgotten gold and not about the fact that, while he hadn’t recognised it at the time, this was the tune Thorin had hummed around his cock that morning. Now every time he heard this song he was going to remember things that made his cheeks burn and his toes curl, and his mind’s eye was going to see Thorin’s face all flushed with his eyes both so blue and so dark, and his sweet lips wrapped so snugly around - yes, well, not time to think about _that._ Long-forgotten gold. But he didn’t want to think about the dragon, either, or the feelings of dread the sight of the mountain awoke in him. He scooted closer to Thorin, sitting on a low stool with his harp in his lap, and leaned his head against his knee.

They went up to bed together, climbing the stairs and walking down the hallway with Thorin’s arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. He stopped at the door of his room and looked down at Bilbo.

‘Tonight too?’ he asked quietly.

‘Well, yes! I thought you were expecting it.’

‘You wouldn’t have me take you for granted.’ He pushed open the door with his other hand, and brought Bilbo in with him before closing it tight. 

[Editor’s note: It is perhaps remarkable to find the present author discreetly eliding a sex scene. However, there are no pages missing from this portion of the text, nor any part of the writing erased or obscured. Clearly, Mr Baggins or Pseudo-Baggins, for once in his life, did not feel the need to narrate every grunt, smack and shiver.]

Bilbo woke with a shudder from a very unpleasant dream. He had been lost in the dark under the mountains again, and the dragon was coming for him. He could not see it, but he could hear its scales clanking, its talons scraping on the stone, its furnace breath hissing, and sometimes he saw a faint glow of its fire. It was coming for him, coming closer, and he could not move, and his magic ring had deserted him, and he thought the others were nearby but he could not make a sound to call them, his voice nothing more than a feeble croak.

But he was safe in bed. Not his own bed, but a warm, soft bed, with thick, cosy covers, and Thorin was curled up at his back. He didn’t wake when Bilbo stirred in his arms, but he made a soft rumbling sound and his hand moved slightly on Bilbo’s chest, patting it down. The dragon was a dream, and Thorin was real. It was hard to doubt the reality and presence of someone whose come had dried stickily on one’s inner thighs, and whose breath was like a feather brushing the back of one’s neck. He snuggled back against Thorin’s warmth and lay waiting for sleep to return.

For some reason, though, perhaps because it was the middle of the night and vexing thoughts have you at their mercy then, he kept thinking about what Dori had said. ‘Dwarves love once.’ And the night before, more than once, Thorin had said that he loved him. They had both been tipsy at the time, and Bilbo wasn’t about to take it seriously until he heard it sober, but if what Dori had said was true, or at least if most dwarves believed it was true, Thorin had been saying something even more serious than he had thought.

 _Did_ most dwarves believe it was true? If you asked almost anyone in the Shire, they would say that _everyone_ wanted to get married and have children, but he had never wanted to. He _liked_ children very much, but had never felt a need to make his own. Lifelong bachelors and spinsters were rare, but he wasn’t the only one there had ever been, and on the same principle he found it hard to believe that dwarves were all so much of a muchness that they really did love only once each. Perhaps Dori’s mother had really been in love with each of her husbands, or perhaps she had had other reasons for marrying them. They might still be perfectly sensible reasons.

Dori’s mother was a sidetrack from the real point: did Thorin believe that? Had he drunkenly informed Bilbo that he was the one and only person he would love for all his life? The thought of it made him cringe. He was pretty sure he did love Thorin, as _he_ meant the word ‘love,’ a deep, strong attraction and affection, but if he said so, would Thorin think it meant the dwarvish thing, and they ought to be all in all to each other and not have anyone else? That sounded far too much like having the same things to eat for every meal for the rest of one’s life.

And what about Dwalin? Had Thorin been in love with him, or would he say it didn’t count as ‘in love’ because it hadn’t lasted all their lives? Did he love him still, or had too much water passed under the bridge? It all seemed very complicated and _dwarvish,_ and now he was afraid that he was going to misunderstand something terribly important and there would be cross words and hurt feelings and all their fun and sweetness would be over. He didn’t want that, and he certainly didn’t want to break Thorin’s heart, if that wasn’t too dramatic a way of putting it.

That was, of course, _if_ Thorin actually loved him, which he hadn’t said again. Tipsy people often said far more than they meant. Perhaps he was worrying about nothing more than the fumes of wine. That thought soothed him back to sleep for a while.

He woke up early and with a desire to do something useful, so he slipped out from under Thorin’s arm, washed and dressed quickly and very quietly, and went down to the kitchen. Feeling exceedingly industrious and benevolent, he made all the dwarves a good, simple breakfast, with coffee and toast and honey, and took it to them in bed, pattering up and down the stairs balancing more trays than was quite prudent. They took it fairly graciously, some of them even gratefully, though Oin and Gloin grumbled about early-rising hobbits forcing their habits on people who needed their sleep. Dori beamed at him from under his nightcap, and in the next room Bofur looped an arm around his waist and pulled him to sit on the bed beside him for a quick kiss.

‘That’s smashing,’ he said, nodding to the tray on his knees.

‘Well, it should hold you until second breakfast,’ Bilbo said. ‘I’m planning a vast feast of pancakes, with bacon of course.’

‘Great idea. You should ask Bombur to help you - he’ll eat half of what he cooks right out of the pan, but that just means one less plate to wash up.’ Bofur sipped his coffee and added some honey to it. ‘Now I was thinking. D’you remember you said you’d like a night with just me?’

‘I do,’ said Bilbo, brightening further at the thought. 

‘Well, I thought, what about a day instead? I’ve heard there’s this nice little island in the lake, and if the weather’s fine we could get rowed out there, take some sandwiches and so on with us, and we could have a very nice time, don’t you think?’

‘Is it a private sort of place?’ Bilbo asked eagerly.

‘As private as you could wish,’ Bombur said, chuckling. ‘You’ve got a definite twinkle in your eye there.’

‘Oh, I’m just thinking _what_ a very nice time I could have with you, on or under a picnic blanket.’

‘Spoil yourself! Bring two.’

He took Thorin his tray last, with enough on it for both of them, and sat beside him in bed to eat.

‘And what shall we do today?’ Thorin asked, brushing a trace of honey from the corner of Bilbo’s mouth with his thumb and bringing it to his own lips.

‘If the weather’s nice, I’m going out on the lake with Bofur,’ Bilbo said. ‘A bit of a picnic.’

‘Just - just you two?’ Thorin said uncertainly.

‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it. And then,’ he said with careful emphasis, ‘I’ll be very glad to see you when I get back.’

‘It’s strange,’ said Thorin ruefully, ‘how much easier it is to share you with many than to share you with one. I suppose instead of being spread out, all my envy is concentrated on him.’

‘Cheer up,’ said Bilbo, kissing him on the cheek, ‘you’ll still get pancakes.’

 

The weather was very fine, one of those beautiful days in early autumn that are almost more pleasant than summertime because the warmth of the sun has mellowed and softened. The sky was a very clear, light blue, and the turning leaves of the trees along the shores of the lake looked as bright as polished copper, bronze and gold. The island Bofur and Bilbo were being rowed to looked as if, ages ago, some vast hand had dropped an enormous, uneven rock into the lake. Perhaps, given what they had seen in the Misty Mountains, some vast hand _had._ Since then it had weathered down to grey smoothness, and soil had gathered and grass grown over most of its surface, some bumps and knobs of rock still protruding as boulders. There were trees, evergreen pine and golden-leaved birch, which screened off a sort of central bowl of green from the shore.

They were put ashore on a little pebbled beach, and after agreeing that the boatman would return at sunset and waving him off, carried their bottles, baskets and bags (Bilbo had, perhaps, slightly over-provisioned for a simple picnic for two) and blankets to that central bowl and laid them down.

‘It’s so warm,’ Bilbo said, wriggling his toes in the soft grass, ‘that I almost feel like a swim before luncheon. What do you say?’

‘I say, I can’t swim,’ Bofur replied. He unrolled one of their blankets in a patch of sunlight.

‘Really? What about in the river, when we all bathed?’

‘Kept my feet on the bottom the whole time.’

‘Well, you can keep your feet on the bottom now. Come on, we’ll just have a splash. We’ll go down the other side of the island, away from the town.’ He took off his coat and folded it over his arm before laying it on the blanket. The new clothes for Fili, Kili and himself had been delivered early that morning, and he was well pleased with his. He wanted to keep them nice as long as he could, so he wasn’t inclined to just pull them off and drop them anywhere, as Bofur was doing with his borrowed clothes, shedding tunic and undershirt and hopping on one foot to pull off a boot. He overbalanced, fell on his back, and lay there laughing at himself.

‘Nitwit,’ said Bilbo fondly, and bent to give him a hand up. He was down to his trousers, his braces hanging against his legs.

‘Hup,’ said Bofur, springing to his feet and grabbing Bilbo around the waist. ‘You know, we don’t have to go in swimming just ‘cos you’ve got your clothes off.’ He attempted a seductive eyebrow wiggle.

‘But I do want to. Come on!’ He twisted around in Bofur’s arms and charged away, Bofur losing hold and grabbing again at his trailing braces. Bilbo found his way down to the water’s edge, through broken, rain-smoothed rocks and scattered yellow leaves like carelessly strewn coins, wriggled out of his trousers and drawers and plunged in. Though the sun was warm, the water felt icy and the shock of it forced a shout out of him. 

‘You all right?’ asked Bofur, perching on a rock.

‘F-f-f-fine,’ Bilbo said through chattering teeth. ‘C-c-c-come in-nnn--n-n!’

‘Oh no you don’t - you’ve gone all white and shivery. You’re like one of those naughty elf ladies in the old stories, who hung around in the water to lure men in and drown ‘em.’

‘I b-b-bet they d-d-d-didn’t. And I wo-won’t d-drown you. Look, I’m warming up already.’ He splashed vigorously to prove it. ‘Iiiiiii’m a naughty elf ladyyyyy,’ he sang. ‘Luring men to their dooooooooooom. Well, dwarves. Well, one dwarf. Come on, Bofur, aren’t I luring you?’

‘All right, you are a bit,’ Bofur said. He left the rest of his clothes on top of the rock and waded in with much gasping and rolling of eyes. ‘I think my knackers have just shrunk up inside my chest. Water’s got no business being this cold! It should turn into ice, decently, so we’d know not to get into it!’

‘Come here,’ Bilbo said, slinging his arms around him. ‘Is that a bit warmer?’

‘Frankly, no!’

‘You can’t wear your _hat_ swimming.’

‘One, I’m not swimming, two, I need it to keep my head warm.’ Bofur held onto its flaps.

‘Well, _I’m_ swimming. Watch me.’ To tell the truth, he was only any good at dog-paddle, and so he dog-paddled out into the lake, his feet dipping into even colder deeper water at the lowest points of their kicks, looped around and came back to Bofur. ‘Ta-da!’

‘Bilbo, this is daft. Let’s get out before my knob freezes off.’

‘I suppose it is a bit,’ Bilbo admitted. His teeth were beginning to chatter again. Shivering and dripping, they scampered out of the water, gathering their scattered clothes as they went, and hurried back to the little sunlit bowl of grass, where Bofur rolled them up together in a blanket and rolled them over until they came to rest, nose to nose, breathless and laughing.

‘Now, is _that_ a bit warmer?’ Bofur asked.

‘Oh, much,’ said Bilbo. ‘Knackers feeling better?’

‘Knob too. They might even come out of hiding again one day.’ He kissed Bilbo, softly and heavily, and laid his head down on the grass, looking at him fondly. ‘I thought this’d be nice for you - maybe remind you a bit of those times you told me about when you were a boy.’

‘Being with you does make me _feel_ like a boy again,’ Bilbo said. ‘And you know, that story I told you, it was on a day very like this.’ He glanced up at the clear sky and the golden leaves.

‘Same time of year?’

‘A bit earlier, I think. It was near the end of August, and now it’s... the middle of September?’

‘Bit later, I think.’

‘Let me see.’ Bilbo counted back on his fingers, and one hand of Bofur’s. ‘Goodness me! I’ve missed my birthday! Does this sound right to you - September the twenty-second, for the day we reached Lake-town?’

‘That’s right. So your birthday was...’

‘That was it, September the twenty-second. I’m fifty-one now and I hadn’t noticed!’

‘Well, happy birthday! We’ll tell the others when we get home and have a party.’

‘There’s no need. I’ve just had one.’

‘Well, it doesn’t have to be _that_ kind of party, I really meant a party with everyone. The kind Ori could go to too.’ Bofur hitched his arms out of the blanket and propped himself on one elbow, grinning.

‘No, we’ve missed it by nearly a week, there’s no point now. Oh, as if I needed another reminder that I’m no boy any more!’ He rolled onto his back, the blanket loosening around them.

‘Fifty-one’s hardly any age if you’re a dwarf,’ Bofur pointed out. ‘I’m a hundred and thirty-five.’

‘You’re five years older than my grandfather when he died. And we all called _him_ the Old Took because he was the oldest hobbit anyone had ever known of.’

‘Well, that’s good then. You’re from a long-lived family. I bet you outlive _him,_ and they call you the Old Baggins.’

‘How long do dwarves usually live?’

‘I’d say two hundred and fifty’s a good age. If you lived that long you’d feel you’d got your fair share, and everything after that was gravy. But I’m pretty sure some have lived three hundred or more.’

‘What a long, long time,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully. ‘Imagine all you could do with three hundred years.’

‘Well, that’s if you don’t get knocked off by goblins or -’

‘Incinerated?’

‘That’s the one.’ Bofur shook his head. ‘I must say, I’ve never _felt_ like I’ve got three hundred years in front of me. It’s just one day at a time.’

‘Bofur.’

‘Bilbo?’

‘Can I ask you something about dwarves?’

‘Course you can.’

‘Well, you know that saying, “dwarves love once”?’

‘Yeah, everyone knows that one.’

‘Do you think it’s actually true? Because that sounds a bit hard. Suppose you love someone very much but, well, _they_ get incinerated or something, and you’ve got another century or two before you and you can’t look forward to loving someone ever again?’

‘Ah, well,’ said Bofur. He lay back and folded his hands under his head. ‘I mean, I’ve seen that happen, and it’s very sad. But no, I don’t think it’s always true. I can only speak for myself, but, well, when I was a lot younger, I was in love. Wonderful girl. Her parents owned the mine where I was working, but that wasn’t why. She was the sweetest thing you ever saw, big green eyes, and sharp as you like. And she loved me, and we were planning all kinds of things once we’d got her parents used to the idea. But then one day I didn’t go to work, because I’d sprained my ankle, and that was the day there was a cave-in, and she died. It broke my heart, and just then I could believe that was it, that was all. I wished I’d been there with her. Everything felt so empty and pointless.’

‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ Bilbo said. ‘That must have been awful.’

‘Bombur took care of me then. He didn’t know what to say to help, so he just cooked my favourites and fed me and held my hand, and I must have put on two stone. And Bifur said - this was before his head, you understand, he still talked a lot then - he said that they, them two, would always, always love me, and I should just remember there was lots of different loves in the world. And I kept on working, and they kept on looking after me, and bit by bit it got better. And years after that, when I wasn’t expecting it, I fell in love again. It didn’t work out, because he didn’t feel the same, but... well, for a bit, I thought, did that mean I hadn’t really loved her? Then I thought back and I decided no, that was stupid, I loved her like anything, and I loved him too. So, here’s at least one dwarf who says, actually, some of us love more than once, so there.’

‘Well, if he didn’t love you, he missed something special and lovely, so _there,’_ Bilbo said emphatically. ‘I’m glad to know that. It’s not as bad as I thought.’

‘Good. Any more questions about dwarves?’

‘Yes, actually, since you mention it. Fili and Kili.’

‘Oh,’ said Bofur, a very expressive _oh._

‘They’re brothers.’

‘Yes.’

‘And they’re... in love.’

‘That they are.’

‘But, well, I don’t see any of that sort of thing with you and Bombur, Nori and his brothers, _or_ Balin and Dwalin, and I suppose I just wanted to ask, is that sort of thing common for brothers?’

‘Um, no, it’s not.’ Bofur shifted uneasily. ‘Not sure where to start explaining that. I mean... well, look, d’you have royalty back where you came from?’

‘No. The different towns have mayors, everybody votes for them, and there’s the Thain, but that’s really only a tradition now, nobody expects him to do anything. We’ve never had a king or queen.’

‘Right, well, the royalty, and the nobles, and the common people, they’re like... it’s like strata. You know strata?’

‘No,’ said Bilbo, mystified. ‘What’s strata?’

‘Strata,’ Bofur repeated, as if it were obvious. ‘Er - have you ever looked at a cliff, and seen it’s got, like, horizontal stripes of rock, layers and different colours?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, those are called strata. Thought everyone knew that.’ Bofur laid his hands one on top of the other, to illustrate. ‘So you’ve got your layers of people, right? Your royals, and your nobs, and people going on down to the bottom. The only way you’re going to go up a layer, if you’re royal or noble, is if the person ahead of you dies. It’s all set.’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo said, still not sure what the point was as far as Fili and Kili were concerned.

‘And royalty’s, you know, different. They don’t mix it with the likes of us. Likes of me, I mean. If they want to be with someone, it needs to be someone _like them,_ I’ve heard _._ So those two, they haven’t really got a lot of choices, specially the way they grew up.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ said Bilbo, ‘because what about the parties? With me?’

‘Ah, well, that’s ‘cos it’s _you._ You’re special. None of that applies to _you._ So we can all - I mean, the other night, when I had you, and they - that was the oddest bloody fuck I’d ever had in my life! Two real live princes, sucking you and kissing you, and I was banging away, and you were just taking it all like it was as natural as you could wish! You’re amazing, you are.’

‘I had no idea. Was it _too_ odd?’

‘No, it was a treat! Don’t you worry about that. I mean, you know, don’t you, if you weren’t here, none of us could fuck each other without it being awkward for someone? Cos you’ve got the princes, then you’ve got Balin and Dwalin, they’re lords, at least Balin is since their dad died at Moria, s’pose Dwalin’s just the back-up, then Oin and Gloin aren’t nobs but they’re richer than - a very rich thing, then you’ve got the Ri boys who are sort of not quite posh but not quite common, neither fish nor fowl, _then_ you’ve got me and Bif and Bom, common as muck. Look at all those strata - they can’t just slide up and down, they’re _rock.’_

‘It sounds terribly complicated,’ Bilbo admitted.

‘So you don’t have any rules like that?’

‘Really, no. The only similar thing I can think of is age differences. Grown up men don’t play with boys. Well, almost everyone grows out of it and gets married. Once I got too old to be interested in boys any more, all my friends and cousins _had_ got married, so I just had to cope on my own.’

‘You poor sod!’

‘I managed, don’t worry.’ Bilbo smiled at him.

‘Hang on, I tell a lie, I said none of us could fuck each other. It’s more that it could only go one way. Say, and I don’t think this’d ever happen, but say Thorin decided he wanted to fuck me. Well, he could, as long as he was always on top and in charge. It’d be me serving him, d’you see what I mean? So you can’t really relax and have fun.’

‘I think so.’ _That_ was a lot to think about. He didn’t think he could concentrate on it now, with Bofur beside him and so appealingly naked, but he made a mental note to try to sort it out in his head later.

‘And I suppose he’s got to be like that even with you, poor bugger, since he’s right at the top. Ah, well, there’s a down side to everything, and an up side to being common as muck. Knacker check, are they back to normal yet?’ He whipped the blanket down with a grin. ‘Still looking a bit small and pale. Better warm them up.’ He cupped his hands together over Bilbo’s cock and balls, leaving a little space between his thumbs, and huffed hot breath through it, making him laugh helplessly.

‘Just giving a friend a blowie,’ said Bofur innocently, and huffed again.

‘That _tickles.’_

‘Nothing wrong with a little tickle.’ Bofur held the end of one of his plaits like a paintbrush and swished it against Bilbo’s cock. ‘How’s that?’

‘Pff! Stop it. Ridiculous.’

‘You’re getting warmer, though.’ He cupped his hands and puffed through them one more time before sitting up. ‘That did you some good, eh? Nice and pink again.’ He took the tip of Bilbo’s cock between his thumb and forefinger, playing with the little soft bit of foreskin that protruded. ‘Your cheeks too.’

‘Oh, come here.’ Bilbo wrapped a plait around his hand and pulled Bofur in to kiss him. They curled up together in the crumpled blanket, Bilbo’s hand diving down between Bofur’s legs, palming and kneading at his cock, working at it as their tongues worked together. It was stiffening, thickening, along with his own, and the sun was warming his skin while he grew warmer inside. ‘I _love_ fucking outside,’ he mumbled.

‘Better than bed?’

‘No... I mean.... well, I love it when the weather’s nice and there’s a blanket and it’s comfortable. Let’s be quite clear.’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to ask you to do it in a mud-puddle in the rain. Hang on a minute.’ Bofur got up on his knees, reached across Bilbo to the nearest hamper, and dug out a bottle of oil. ‘Made sure this was in at the top!’

‘I do like how _practical_ you are.’

‘Oh, I’ve been planning this. What’s one of the nicest treats I could give Bilbo, I asked myself. What does he like? Glad I got it right.’ He laid his cock next to Bilbo’s and drizzled the oil over them, setting the bottle aside before he settled down on top of him to grind. Bilbo wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him joyfully, loving the prickle and tickle of moustache and beard against his cheek, lips and chin, and thick body hair against his belly and thighs. He wrapped his legs around Bofur’s and rubbed up and down, wanting to tickle him at least as much with the woolly curls around his ankles. The angle wasn’t quite right for his cock at first, but he sorted that out with a bit of squirming, and then the sleek, oily rubbing was delicious.

‘One reason - very glad I came - this adventure...’ he panted. ‘Could have lived my whole life in the Shire, never known how much I like hairy men.’ 

Bofur muffled a laugh against Bilbo’s cheek. ‘You’re pretty hairy from the knees on down. Sometimes looks like you’re wearing furry boots.’

‘Sometimes looks like _you’re_ wearing furry pants.’ He slid his hands down Bofur’s back to cup under his bottom, squeezing the firm flesh.

‘A hairy bum is a sign of virility, you know.’

‘Oh yes?’ Bilbo kneaded at his buttocks, concentrating on the lower slope.

‘Mm... so keep playing with it.’ Bofur nuzzled his way back into a kiss, soft and deep, and gave a contented little grunt as Bilbo’s fingers pried into the furry cleft. ‘That’s it... give it a good rub, right up and down the crack. You’ve got clever fingers.’

‘D’you want me to stick them in?’

‘Get them oily first, I’m a bit tight.’

‘Oh, so you are.’ Bilbo watched Bofur’s face as he worked his forefinger in. ‘Tell me if I’m hurting.’

‘Not a bit. Just... just go slowly.’

‘You do look like you’re enjoying it. You’re turning all red.’ Bilbo pressed his forehead to Bofur’s, brushing their noses together, as he gently screwed his finger deeper. ‘We could play that it’s your first time, and I’m breaking you in.’

Bofur smothered a laugh. ‘I’m not that good of an actor, pet.’

‘I like... having something that just you call me. Every time you say “pet” I feel warmer. I try to think of something I could call you, but I can’t.’ To tell the truth he was beginning to feel that way about ‘bunny’ too, ridiculous as it was, but it seemed unfair to Thorin to tell Bofur about that.

‘“Pet” just popped out. You needn’t try to think something up. Ah...’ He rolled his hips again, grinding his cock against Bilbo’s.

‘It’s starting to relax, isn’t it? I like that twitchy fluttery feeling as it goes. D’you want another one?’

‘Yes _please._ Give it a little fuck like that.’ He groaned, humping faster, as Bilbo’s fingers pumped inside him, gripped snugly in hot, soft flesh. Usually all Bilbo’s own desires focused on being penetrated himself, on all those gorgeous feelings of being covered and filled and fucked, wanting and taking and swallowing up his lovers, and feeling so gloriously powerful and strong because he _could,_ but just for a change he was very keen on giving that feeling to someone else.

‘D’you want a proper fuck?’ he hazarded.

‘Nothing I’d like better just now. You’ve got me all hot and bothered.’ Bofur lifted himself and rolled onto his back, hoisting his legs up. ‘Come on, then,’ he said, with an eager smile.

‘You look _wonderful_ like that,’ Bilbo said, shuffling into position. He was always struck by the length of Bofur’s torso, and the dark mat of hair across his chest that gathered into a thick line down the middle of his belly before spreading into a tangle between his legs. His cock was jutting out of it, glossy with oil. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ There was a dark blue-green tattoo on the pale inside of Bofur’s thigh, half obscured by curly hair. It looked like a square, and he brushed his thumb over it to try to see it better.

‘This is no time to get distracted,’ Bofur protested. ‘I’ll tell you about it later. Get in there quick.’ He spread his legs wider, offering his flushed, finger-stretched ring.

‘All right, don’t worry!’ It was much easier to push in than he’d expected, and so deliciously, sleekly warm, a sliding kiss all over his cock. He settled his hands on Bofur’s thighs and rocked his hips until he could reach no deeper, with Bofur shuddering around and against him. ‘There,’ he breathed. ‘There, I’m all yours.’

‘Oh...’ Bofur was panting, his head tipped back and his chin pointing to the sky. Bilbo would have very much liked to kiss his neck, but couldn’t quite reach. He settled for his chest, wet lips and tongue sliding over hard muscle and wiry hair, breathlessly sucking and slurping as he pumped his hips. He was so inexperienced at this that he could only thrust and hope. Bofur’s cock was stiff and warm, digging into his belly, and he was moaning sweetly and shakily.

‘You’re nearly there,’ he gasped. ‘Can you - sort of tilt up?’

‘Like this?’ Bilbo angled his hips, and Bofur made an explosive, inarticulate noise through his mouth and nose together. ‘All right...’ His knees dug into the turf under the blanket, and his hands tightened on Bofur’s thighs as he thrust faster, hit-and-miss but still with enough hits to make Bofur’s hips jump and twitch, grunts and hoarse cries bursting out of him and his face shining with desire and joy. Bilbo was caught between his own rising pleasure and a growing certainty that he couldn’t hold out long. It was even faster than he was prepared for, a sudden rush of luscious heat that shot through his belly and made rainbow flowers pop open behind his eyes. His hips stuttered and slowed, and his glad cries faded into whimpers as he slid down, his knees splayed and his thighs twitching. Telling himself sternly that this was no time to go to pieces, he pulled himself together enough to grasp Bofur’s cock and bring him off by hand, his sweaty palm skidding the length of the warm shaft until it spattered Bofur’s belly and he could go limp with a clear conscience. 

He lay with his cheek on Bofur’s chest, his cock still sunk deep in his body, breathing in the hot salted smell of his skin and feeling the sweat on his own back cool. He felt Bofur’s hands on his shoulders, stroking, and slipped into a warm, dreamless doze.

He was still beached on that warm, solid belly when he woke, not long after. His cock was quite soft now, and had slipped out to rest on the wet, sticky grass under them, where the blanket had rucked and wrinkled up. From Bofur’s slow, steady breathing, he thought he was sleeping even before he lifted his head to confirm it. He laid his cheek back on his chest, feeling such a glow of affection that his own chest ached. _What_ is _the matter with me?_ he wondered, drawing spirals over Bofur’s ribs with his fingertip. The only things physically wrong were that his knees were sore and cramped, from falling asleep with them bent and wedged under Bofur’s hips, and that he very much needed to pee. 

He got up with great reluctance and slight difficulty, given that his skin was lightly gummed to Bofur’s with sweat, oil and spunk. Feeling the fresh air on his belly and chest, Bofur stirred and grumbled in his sleep, and Bilbo folded the blanket over him as well as he could before creeping away to water a tree. He felt strange about touching his cock when it was certainly not of the cleanest, and went back down to the swimming place where he attempted a very regrettable wash with cold water only. By the time he got back to their little camp, Bofur had woken up and was building a fire. 

‘Wondered where you’d got to,’ he remarked.

‘I was trying to clean myself up,’ Bilbo said, shrugging.

‘That’s why I’m getting a fire going - heat up some water, and I’m pretty sure I brought soap as well as oil. D’you want to pop back and fill this?’ he asked, holding out a tin kettle. ‘And after that we’ll boil up and have elevens.’

‘Elevens _es,’_ Bilbo corrected him, and hurried back to the waterside to dunk in the kettle. He didn’t feel like putting his nice clothes back on until he had had a proper wash, and the weather was quite nice enough to patter about in the nude, though it felt very queer out of doors without the excuse of swimming or bathing. Even as boys in the fields and forests of the Shire, they had usually kept most of their clothes on, only lifting shirts and dropping pants as necessary to reach the good parts. Just once, on a dare, he and the only younger boy present at the time had raced across a meadow naked, but that had been sheer silliness. Still, really, why put clothes on unless he felt cold? 

The water warmed, they both had a much more satisfactory and comfortable wash. Bofur seemed no more inclined than he was to get dressed again, though he was still wearing his hat. After refilling the kettle, they put it on to boil and Bofur announced that he had a surprise.

‘Ahem,’ he said, ‘and ta-da.’ From the pocket of the trousers he’d discarded he pulled a small paper bag and opened it to reveal a mass of fragrant black leaves.

‘Where did you find _tea?’_ Bilbo asked, delighted. 

‘I went poking round the shops the day after the party. Wanted to get you something nice to say thank you. You’d been grumbling about no proper tea, and I managed to track this down. It’s not much, but there’s enough for a few good cuppas.’

‘That is _excellent,_ you are _wonderful,_ and I would hug you here and now if I weren’t afraid of making you spill it,’ Bilbo said.

‘Excellent _and_ wonderful; I _am_ doing well,’ said Bofur, looking quietly pleased. He sat smoking his pipe while Bilbo made the tea, and accepted a brimming mug of it with a handful of gingernut biscuits.

They ate and drank and smoked to their hearts’ content, lying on the smoothed-out blanket in the golden sunshine and blowing hazy smoke rings up into the sky.

‘I’d almost forgotten. Tell me about that,’ Bilbo said, rolling onto his hip and tapping his pipe-stem against Bofur’s thigh. He slid one hand under Bofur’s knee to lift it, realising only as he was already doing it that he felt no hesitation about touching him anywhere; it was as comfortable and simple as touching himself or moving his own body, and he felt equally sure that it was welcome. ‘There.’ The tattooed mark was exposed, and he traced its square outline with the pipestem. ‘What is it?’

‘That’s my mark,’ Bofur said. ‘What funny things you don’t know about. Do hobbits really not have them?’

‘What do you mean by mark? We might have something _like_ it.’

‘It’s a symbol that means you.’

‘So it’s a way of writing your name? Like your signature?’ It was a square, but tilted onto its corner when you looked at it straight up and down. The square was divided across its middle, making two triangles, each with two chevrons inside it, their angles matching the corners, pointing up and down. It was very simple, neat and angular, pleasingly balanced.

‘Not quite. It’s more... it’s the whole idea of _you,_ not just your name. Your parents give you your name but you make up your own mark, for your coming-of-age. You can get some help with it, to make sure it isn’t too much like anyone else’s, but it’s all your own work. Dwarf boys and girls spend ages doodling marks for themselves, working out what shapes they want when they grow up - that’s why they say, “he can’t wait to make his mark,” you know? I had mine worked out from the time I was twelve. Once you’ve settled on a mark, you engrave it or stamp it on all your things, you stitch it into all your clothes somewhere, and you get it inked into your skin, so it’s permanent. Apart from anything else, a lot of bodies have been identified after battles or bad accidents by their marks.’

‘Oh. Well, we don’t have anything quite like that, no. We sign our names, and important people have seals, and the big old families like the Tooks and the Brandybucks have a coat of arms that means all of them together. I suppose the closest I have to a mark is this.’ He reached over to his pile of folded clothes and picked up the waistcoat, showing Bofur the interlocking Bs on the buttons Fili and Kili had made. ‘And I didn’t design that.’

‘It’s nice, though. Maybe you could take that as a start and come up with your own. It’s all right to get ideas from other places - mine looks a lot like my granddad’s, but I made sure it was different enough not to be confusing.’

‘And then get it tattooed onto me?’ Bilbo asked, putting the waistcoat aside and curling up facing Bofur, his head on his arm. ‘Is that allowed for non-dwarves? I wouldn’t want to give offence.’

‘It wouldn’t be the same thing, ‘cos you’re _not_ a dwarf and you never had a coming-of-age ceremony, but as long as you didn’t go round pretending it _was_ the same I think we’d all take it as a compliment. You’re ours, after all. Our burglar. You’re not going to argue with me again if I say you’re one of us now, are you?’

‘No, I’m not. Bofur, I’m _so_ sorry I said that then. About you not understanding because you don’t have a home - I could have kicked myself as soon as I’d said it, and I thought you _would,_ but then you were so kind to me that I felt even worse. It made me _want_ to stay, a bit, that you were so lovely, but all the more sure that I should go because I didn’t deserve it.’

‘What a lot of nonsense,’ Bofur said. He reached over and stroked Bilbo’s cheek. ‘You were just having a bad night. I wasn’t about to try and make you stay. To be honest, I was thinking you’d go about a hundred yards from the cave, realise it was too dangerous on your own, sit down and have a little blub, dry your eyes and be back in time for breakfast.’

‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, feeling rather deflated.

‘If you weren’t back by then I was going to stall for time until you did show up. I was sure you would. You’re too sensible to really do a daft thing like try to get back to Rivendell on your own.’

‘That _was_ what I was going to do, though.’

‘Well, yeah, until you got back out into the rocks and the rain and the thumping great giants playing football with boulders.’

‘I could have been squashed by a boulder before getting back to you,’ Bilbo argued, not sure what his point was, or whether he was being patronised.

‘I’m glad you weren’t,’ Bofur said, and kissed him on the nose. ‘What would we have done without you?’

‘All sorts of silly things,’ Bilbo mumbled. Wanting to change the subject, he reached over and touched Bofur’s earring. ‘What’s this?’

‘Ah, this,’ Bofur said. ‘This is from my granddad Mifur. It’s a fang from a lynx - at least he said it was a lynx, though my granny Ena always said she thought it was a fat wildcat - that he fought one day in the Iron Hills. It was such a beautiful creature he didn’t want to kill it, he said, but it had no such reservations and sprang right at him, so he had to hit it between the eyes with his hammer. He didn’t have any use for a dead lynx, seeing as they taste horrible, but he skinned it and brought the pelt home, and he kept this fang for a trophy. He was going to give it to my da before he died, but Da died first, so he gave it straight to me.’

‘I’m sorry about your father. Was it another accident?’

‘No, it was Moria. Granddad would’ve gone too if it weren’t for his leg or lack thereof. Blessing in disguise, that leg. Now, I think it’s my turn to ask you a question. Fair’s fair.’

‘All right, then. What would you like to know?’

‘Well, you asked about “dwarves love once,” so I suppose it’s different for hobbits. What _is_ it like for hobbits? How do you do these things?’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said, turning onto his back again. He found his pipe had gone out while they were talking, and fussed about getting it re-lit with an ember from the campfire. At last he settled back to try to answer the question properly, since fair was fair.

‘It’s quite ordinary, I suppose,’ he said. ‘All the boys’ play I told you about has nothing to do with love, not true love.’

‘You said those cousins of yours were in love, didn’t you?’

‘Just a bit, and just for a while. That happened all the time - a couple of boys would be madly keen on each other for a few weeks, and then it would fade. It never happened to me, though I was very fond of Robin. You see, once you grow up, you generally put all that behind you. Nobody minds it when you’re a boy, because you’re not getting the girls into trouble when none of you are ready to be parents yet, but it’s not what _men_ do, or if they do they’re very quiet about it. Everybody wants a family.’

‘You haven’t got one, though,’ Bofur pointed out gently. ‘I did wonder. A big house like yours, but no wife or children, and no relatives living with you.’

‘Oh, I can’t have relatives living with me, or I’d have Lobelia Sackville-Baggins making the place her own. She’s my most terrifying cousin, though only by marriage - she was a Bracegirdle. She’s got this little toad-eater of a husband called Otho who follows her around agreeing with everything she says, yes Lobelia, no Lobelia, three bags full. I suppose he must love her, or at least enjoy being sat upon.’ It was far easier to make fun of the Sackville-Bagginses than to explain his own singledom.

‘Did you have a disappointment, like me?’ Bofur asked. ‘Someone you wanted to marry, but couldn’t?’

‘Oh, no. I’ve never been in love at all bef- ur,’ he said, with an awkward attempt to sound as if he had only been saying Bofur’s name. It might have passed for ‘Bifur,’ but that made no sense, and he knew he was blushing.

Bofur raised his eyebrows and smiled, but didn’t press the matter. ‘So everybody wants a family, but you didn’t?’

‘Not really. I think I get that from my mother - she wasn’t very keen, and it was really my father who wanted lots of children. It was difficult even to have me, because she had two or three false starts that came to nothing, which was very upsetting, and then the whole time she was carrying me she was dreadfully ill almost every day. She didn’t feel ill with the false starts, so she said if being sick was the price she had to pay for a healthy baby she would pay it, but she was not impressed. Once I was born she asked my father if he’d really mind terribly if I was an only child, and he was so happy to have me that he didn’t mind at all. Perhaps it’s because I _am_ an only child. Most hobbits grow up in large families, but it was just the three of us in Bag End, and it never seemed too few.’

‘I suppose they were nice people, your ma and da.’

‘They were _lovely_ people. My father was the kindest, steadiest, most comfortable person you could imagine. He adored my mother - he said that when he met her, he knew the story that one of the Tooks in the olden days had taken a fairy wife was true, because she had to be at least half a fairy if not more. She was pretty and clever and adventurous, always going off on expeditions with her sisters and Gandalf into the Wild and coming back with all sorts of queer plants in her press and tales to tell. 

‘He didn’t see how a dull fellow like him could ever interest a girl like her, but she seemed to like him just the same, and he decided that the only way she would want to stay at home would be if he gave her the most beautiful, comfortable home in the Shire. So that’s exactly what he did. There was already a house under the Hill, an old Baggins property, but nobody was living in it then because it was very old and small and dark. He dug it deeper and wider, and knocked through walls, and made it light and airy and lovely with windows looking out over the Water and the meadows. He made it bigger than it needed to be in the end, because he _was_ thinking of a lot of children, but it needed to be that big to use all the lovely ideas he had. Still, I don’t think it was the house that kept her at home. She adored him, too,’ he concluded happily.

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Bofur said. ‘When I was little, I didn’t really understand that we didn’t have a home. I thought home was just where my family was. The place changed from time to time, but _home_ was us together. I didn’t understand why Ma was so unhappy and why Da went off to fight until I was older. If I ever have any children, I hope they can grow up in a home like you did.’

‘Do you... still want to have children?’ Bilbo asked uncertainly. He had, after all, only found out today that Bofur liked women too, which rather muddled his assumption that a man so very keen on men wouldn’t be concerned with fatherhood. What he hadn’t said, but had always suspected of himself, was that he _really_ hadn’t wanted children because he didn’t want a wife. Didn’t one follow from the other?

‘I’ve always hoped I would one day.’

‘Then you’ll be looking out for a wife?’

‘Not necessarily. There’s other arrangements - I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a lot more dwarf men than dwarf women. Nothing like enough ladies to go round, even among the men who do want to marry, which isn’t all of us by a long shot. Well, one thing that you can do, if you can’t find a wife or you’d rather stay single but you _do_ want to have a child, and _if_ you’ve a brother who’s married, or sometimes a very close cousin will do, then you can arrange that his wife will try to bear you a child and you’ll live with them and bring it up together. Now if Bombur doesn’t get married sooner or later there’s something very wrong with the world, so I’ve always got that possibility.’

‘Wait - do you mean that you would, would go to bed with your sister-in-law?’ 

‘Good grief, no!’ Bofur seemed startled by the suggestion, then laughed at his own shock. ‘No, no, it’s - well, it’s a bit embarrassing, you’d bring yourself off, come in a cup and pass it on to her to do the necessary. You’ve got to wait until she’s had at least one baby with your brother first, of course, and it puts you in their debt for life, but it’s worth it if - well, if it’s worth it to _you.’_

‘This does _not_ sound very dwarves-love-once-ish to me,’ Bilbo said.

‘It’s not about that sort of love, though,’ Bofur answered. He stroked Bilbo’s cheek again, looking at him fondly. ‘Or this sort.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said faintly.

‘You don’t look happy.’

‘I’m so horribly muddled.’

‘What about?’

‘Do you remember you said you believed you _could_ love more than one person in your life, and really love them both?’

‘Course.’ 

‘What about at the same time?’ Bilbo rushed on before Bofur could answer. ‘Because I do love you. It would be stupid to pretend I don’t. It’s why I wanted to be alone with you, I love you and I want to - to talk to you and know you and, and, I’ve never fallen in love before and fifty-one is a very trying age to do it for the first time.’

‘So,’ Bofur said. His voice was still fond and gentle, and he brushed Bilbo’s hair back behind his ear, stroking the leaf-shaped point of his ear with his fingertips. ‘This other person you love, should I take it he’s a very important dwarf, someone with blue eyes and a nose like a weapon, someone who’s had you alone a lot, someone who loves you like gold and song and his own heart’s blood?’

‘He said he loved me, but I think he was drunk and he hasn’t said it again, and I don’t know what he thinks about it, and I’m worried if he does love me it will be so complicated and spoil everything.’ Bilbo wanted to pour out all that he had been thinking, but bit his tongue thinking of Dwalin, and how unfair it would be to repeat anything Thorin had said to him alone and in confidence. ‘And what you said about strata worries me too, because if it isn’t just fucking and fun, if it’s actual true love, I don’t _have_ a strata-thingy and yours is so far off from his. And I have never in my life heard of someone truly being in love with two people at once, so either I’m entirely unique in all the world, or I’m wrong and then I don’t know what I feel or want.’ He scooted over and buried his face in Bofur’s chest, wanting to hide in the furry warmth there.

Bofur folded his arms around Bilbo’s body, tucking his chin down on the top of his head. ‘I want to try to help you, but I’m just feeling so glad and lucky that you love me, I can’t think of a thing.’

‘A fat lot of good you are,’ Bilbo mumbled, though he felt slightly comforted. He breathed in the oniony smell of Bofur’s warm skin, and tested the words in his head. _I love how he smells. I love how he holds me and touches me. I love the look in his eyes when he sees me, and his voice when he talks to me, and his hands and his mouth and his cock and his ridiculous hat. I don’t know him half as well as I want to, and I_ love _him._

‘I’ll admit,’ Bofur said, ‘I don’t know what to do. And I don’t know about being in love with two people, but I don’t see why you’d say that if you didn’t really mean it. Whatever comes of it, you’ve got me, so count on that.’ He kissed the top of Bilbo’s head and gave him a squeeze.

‘I’m so glad.’ Bilbo slipped his arm around Bofur’s waist and squeezed back, greatly soothed by the solid warmth of his body. ‘And don’t let’s worry about Thorin. I’ll talk to him and get to the bottom of it when I can. There’s no sense in letting it spoil our day out.’

‘Any other worries, though?’

‘Oh, any number. I’m terrified of going to the mountain and actually having to deal with the wretched dragon. I’ve started having nightmares about it.’

‘Poor little sausage,’ Bofur said. ‘I keep hoping that the reason he hasn’t been seen for sixty years is that the bastard’s dead. Though that’d be a mucky job too.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, think about it. Besides the mess he’ll have made living in there - ‘cos I don’t think dragons have any concept of a toilet - imagine the job we’d have, chopping up a whacking great dragon carcass and hauling the bits out of the mountain. The bones’d be bad enough, but just think of the guts. A dragon’s guts must be something out of a chemist and a butcher’s nightmares, crossed. Depending on how long they’d been rotting -’

‘Bofur, shut up.’

‘Sorry, pet.’

‘Either you shut up or I throw up, it’s that simple.’

‘No, no no, we don’t want that.’ Bofur gave a soft chuckle. ‘No more guts talk from me.’

‘If you _say_ guts one more time,’ Bilbo threatened, trying to look fierce while peering up with his chin against Bofur’s chest.

‘What’ll you do?’

‘Pummel you into unconsciousness.’

‘Let’s see you try. Guts!’ He laughed as Bilbo thumped him on the shoulder. ‘Great gluey gobs of greasy dragon guts.’

It was an extremely unequal struggle, although Bilbo fought as hard as he could, slapping and scratching and kicking, and was quite out of breath by the time he was pinned on his back, his wrists up over his head and clamped together by one strong hand, and with a humiliating but very pleasant erection.

‘Now, if I let go, are you going to go for me again?’ Bofur asked. His hat had been knocked off, Bilbo’s only victory, but he was still grinning cheerfully.

‘Stop it!’

‘Stop it?’

‘Well, don’t _stop_ it, but be nicer to me,’ Bilbo said, pouting.

‘I’ll be _so_ nice to you.’ Without releasing Bilbo’s wrists, he kissed him, quite roughly, sucking his lower lip and softly scraping it with his teeth. ‘Isn’t that nice? And this?’ He ran his tongue down the rim of Bilbo’s ear and sucked at the lobe.

‘Ummm...’ Bilbo’s ears flicked involuntarily, and Bofur would not leave them alone, nibbling and sucking until they burned and twitched. He had never had such attention paid to his ears before, but he thought he would have to begin asking for it. His fingers and toes stretched and curled, and he made little mewling sounds in his throat. 

‘And now,’ Bofur said, his voice a ticklish buzz against his neck, ‘I’m going to play with your dear little tits a bit.’

‘Oh, don’t call them that.’ His chest might be a bit soft, and his nipples a bit puffy, but he was sure ‘tits’ was going too far. Here, too, Bofur was persistent, lips and tongue working over and over until the buds of his nipples were crimson and so tender that even the air on them made him gasp and squirm, biting his lip and chuffing out his breath.

‘Roll over,’ Bofur murmured, letting go of his wrists and helping him turn onto his belly. Bilbo moaned as he felt his hair brushed from the back of his neck, vaguely thinking that it was getting much too long, and again, louder, when he felt hot wet lips on his nape, and then gentle teeth. Bofur sucked and nipped his way down his spine, his warm coarse hands kneading and stroking down his sides so that blissful wriggling sensations travelled up and down, muscles twitching and nerves sparking. Now hands and mouth were at the small of his back, thumbs digging in hard so that he arched and grunted, and the hands were sliding down to knead his plump buttocks, and his tongue, to his astonishment, was gliding down into their cleft.

‘What’re you doing?’ he mumbled.

‘Don’t worry, you’re clean as a whistle. Tilt your bum up.’ 

Bilbo lay there gasping and baffled as Bofur worked his way down, nose and whiskery chin spreading and tickling his cheeks, tongue melting against his skin. Bofur made a deep ‘mmm’ sound that he felt through his flesh before he heard it, and then his tongue-tip touched the ring and Bilbo caught his breath in startled wonder. He was well aware of how clever Bofur was with his tongue; he had kissed him quite enough. Now it was stroking and twirling, stiff tip flicking and teasing the tingling opening, interspersed with smacking kisses so cheerfully loud and crude that they made him giggle breathlessly even while he was squirming on the blanket, overwhelmed by pleasure. He dug his toes into the soft grey wool and clutched fistfuls of it in his hands.

‘Oh dear!’ he gasped. ‘Oh, Bofur, please!’

‘Mmm?’

‘Put something in, put your fingers in...’

‘No.’ Instead he gave Bilbo his tongue, twisting and pulsing in and out, hot and sleek, working him into a frenzy of delight. It felt _so_ warm, _so_ lush, so sweetly, richly delicious that he only wished Bofur’s tongue could be as long as his cock. He gave a forlorn little cry when it was withdrawn completely, and a great, joyful ‘Oh, _yes!’_ as Bofur’s hard prick took its place, sinking into the deep place that so urgently wanted it.

‘Let me just get comfortable,’ Bofur breathed against his nape. He lay on Bilbo’s back, legs in between his, and slid one hand in under his tummy, under his cock, the palm cradling it. His other hand stroked along Bilbo’s arm to his fist, pried the fingers loose from the blanket and laced his own between them, holding tight. He kissed Bilbo’s shoulder and grunted softly as he began to flex his hips, a slow undulation. ‘That’s my little pet,’ he groaned, ‘that’s my darling.’

‘Darling,’ Bilbo echoed, his cheek pressed to the blanket, feeling the stroke of Bofur’s cock even in his belly. ‘Love you,’ he sighed. Saying it like this, with that heat inside him, sent a quite new kind of thrill through him.

‘Love you so.’ Bofur’s hand tightened on his, and he rubbed his cheek against Bilbo’s, rough against soft, rocking into him.

‘Ahhh...’ He turned his head awkwardly, lips seeking, and managed to get a soft, sloppy kiss, half on his cheek and half in his mouth. They lay together, tongues stroking and hips rolling, and this time when he came it was less of an explosion, more a slow boil that spilled over. He drifted in utter contentment while Bofur finished, moaning and grunting into his ear, and imagined the thick warm spunk spilling into his bowel as foaming hot milk filling his belly with love. _I am a ridiculous creature,_ he thought, _love-milk indeed,_ but he felt rather complacent about it all.

‘Thank you, pet, sweet little pet,’ Bofur murmured. He pressed his hand firmly against Bilbo’s tummy, holding him close, and rolled back onto his hip so that they lay on their sides. He released his other hand long enough to pull the blanket over them, then took it back, bringing them to his lips together.

‘Thank _you..._ even if I still haven’t found what to call you.’

‘Mmm... let’s see. Dear. Darling. Love. Sweetheart. Poppet. Posset. Honey-sop. Buttercup. Turtle-dove. Pigsney. Mouse. Ducky. Birdie. Dear heart. Daisy. Honeysuckle. Heart-root. Treasure. Nugget. Jewel. Stop me if you hear one you like, ‘cos I’m running out of ideas fast.’

‘Nugget, really?’

‘Like a gold nugget.’

‘I think I quite like treasure... but I’m still not used to it, so I’ll have to remind myself to say it.’ Bilbo stretched his legs out comfortably. ‘My treasure’s deep inside of me, just where I like him to be.’

‘You could get a song out of that. I’ll make up the tune, you do the words.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t think I could make a song... even if I just changed the words of one I already knew...’

‘You made a song about killing spiders, that was pretty good.’

‘A very different proposition from a love-song, though. I would just end up with something like... better than rain or a rippling brook is a big fat cock inside this Took.’ He felt Bofur laughing, holding and surrounding and filling him, warm and joyful.

They passed the day in sun-bathed warmth and comfort, eating, drinking, smoking, making love and dozing until they woke to the next meal or the next sweet, lazy fuck. Bilbo sipped smoke from Bofur’s lips, licked honey from his cock, lay in his lap and ate thin slices of apple from the blade of his knife, unbraided his hair and kissed him in its soft shadows. He thought that, when the sun sank low and they had to dress and pack up their things ready to meet the boatman, he should have felt reluctant, longing to stay together alone; surely that would be the in-love thing to feel? However, he only felt the same deep-seated contentment, with a gentle, pleasant anticipation of seeing Thorin and the others again, as they sat on the shore hand in hand awaiting the boatman.

It was not easy to get back into the house, as the usual crowd of townspeople was in attendance, singing songs, thronging around them as they tried to reach the front door, holding up babies for them to kiss and trying to rub Bilbo’s head for luck. Although that was thoroughly annoying, he found himself enjoying the way Bofur tried to shield him from it. They dashed inside and slammed the front door, leaning against it, rolling their eyes at each other and laughing.

‘Oh, hallo,’ said Ori, popping his head out from the front sitting-room. ‘You’re back! Did you have a nice time?’ Nori appeared behind him, waggling both braided eyebrows and making a gesture of hand and tongue in cheek to denote vigorous cocksucking.

‘We had a _lovely_ time,’ Bilbo said firmly, while Bofur tried not to laugh. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve nearly finished my portraits of everyone, so I’m glad to see you. I wondered if you’d sit for me for an hour or so.’ Ori came over to show Bilbo his sketchbook, opened to an excellent likeness of Dwalin. He seemed to glower right out of the page.

‘Ori! These are ever so good,’ Bilbo exclaimed, paging back through the book. He had often seen Ori sketching away, but never had a close look before. Here was Bofur, with just the kind, crinkle-eyed smile that he loved _(loved)_ so perfectly captured that he had to turn and look at the original to make sure he wasn’t in the book. 

‘Well, I want to make a book when all this is over,’ Ori said shyly, ‘telling the whole story, and I always like it better when there are pictures so you know how to imagine people. These are just sketches; I’ll paint coloured ones when there’s time.’

‘Would you let me keep the sketch after that?’ Bilbo asked. ‘That’s my price for sitting for you.’

‘Oh, of course!’

‘It looks as if you’ve done everyone but me and Thorin.’

‘Yes, well, I’ve been a bit shy about asking him,’ Ori admitted. ‘I worked up my nerve today, but I couldn’t because he’s spent the whole day closeted up in his room with Fili and Kili. I suppose he’s teaching them about royal duties and so on.’

‘Yes, I expect he’s got a lot to drill into them,’ Bofur said cheerfully, which elicited the most cynically amused grin from Nori that Bilbo thought he had ever seen. ‘Come on, Bilbo, you can sit for Ori after we’ve put the picnic things away.’ He led the way to the kitchen, a hamper under each arm and a bag swinging around his neck.

‘You are both extremely bad to make jokes like that over poor Ori’s head,’ Bilbo said severely.

‘Ah, he’s quite happy,’ said Bofur, slinging the baskets up onto the table. 

‘Do you think they are really...’ Bilbo nodded his head in the general direction of upstairs. 

‘Maybe he’s trying to make _you_ jealous,’ Bofur said, grinning. ‘You take off with me, so he fucks his comely nephews all day.’

‘He wouldn’t be so silly,’ Bilbo sniffed, ‘and if he were, I just wouldn’t rise to it.’

‘Well, we’ll know when we see Fili and Kili by how they’re walking,’ Bofur said. He patted Bilbo’s bottom affectionately, and goosed him a little. ‘How are you here? Not too sore?’

‘Not enough to make me walk funny, at any rate.’

Nor was it enough to rule out sitting still for an hour, for Ori’s benefit, though it did help that he sat in a soft armchair and was allowed a break to go to the lavatory. Towards the end of the hour, Kili appeared, looking flushed and cheerful, and in order not to disturb the artist, conducted a conversation with Nori partly in the dwarves’ hand-sign language and partly in spirited dumb-show which anyone could take to indicate that he had recently been buggered to the utmost of his capacity by both his brother and his uncle. He then flopped face-down on the sofa and called feebly for wine.

Bilbo kept his face neutral and pleasant for the picture, but found himself feeling very slightly vexed by all this. It was not that he was jealous - he really did examine his feelings for that, but found that he didn’t care a scrap if Thorin wanted to fuck somebody else without him. It was more that he was disappointed in Thorin doing this the day he went off with Bofur, as if he were _retaliating._ And then, rather more selfishly, he was cross to think that Thorin might have spent himself entirely on Kili and have no energy or desire left for him. He thought they would have to have a serious conversation about that, but for now Thorin would keep; he would let Ori finish his drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few little explanations:  
> > I wanted to include a bit of bottom-Bofur purely because of [this drawing by dreadfuldicks.](http://dreadfuldicks.tumblr.com/post/42214017943/unexpectedmoose-wrote-bofur-porn-and-i-couldnt)  
> > The design of Bofur's 'mark' is as seen on page 29 of _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey Almanac 2013_ , which is really a lavishly produced children's annual, but has one thing I haven't seen in the _Visual Companion, Official Movie Guide_ or the big design and art book: each dwarf has a personal seal or crest, shown under his picture on their character profile pages. And it's way cool. I thought they would make sense as tattoos and headcanoned from there.  
>  > Some of Bofur's suggested endearments are from [this delightful list on the Oxford Dictionaries website.](http://blog.oxforddictionaries.com/2012/02/six-obsolete-endearments/) Just in case you were wondering what the fuck a pigsney is.


	12. Delightful and Satisfactory, VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow how long can I keep these guys in Lake-town
> 
> This chapter features Bottom!Thorin, who is my favourite Thorin, since you ask.

That evening they dined at the Master’s banqueting hall again. The grand meals were beginning to blend together and seem much of a muchness. Compliments, rich food (not that Bilbo minded _that),_ predictions of magnificent success, and all possible flattery of the king in waiting. On this occasion, Thorin stepped forward with the new harp and sang for the company. Perhaps unfortunately, he chose to sing a piece that amounted to a genealogy of his house, and unless one felt about it as Thorin clearly did, the lyrics were almost incomprehensibly dull, all about who married who, how many children they had and what they named all of them. It was lucky, Bilbo thought, that he was so handsome and had such a lovely voice; people could still enjoy him when he was being boring. He sat chewing the crackling from some excellent roast pork, watching Thorin’s fingers strum and pluck the harpstrings, and idly wondering where _his_ tattoo mark was, and what it looked like. He wanted to go on a hunt for it. 

As he happened to be sitting beside Ori, he asked him whether he had a mark of his own.

‘Oh, yes!’ said Ori. ‘Mine’s right here.’ He pulled up his sleeve to show a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm, a hexagon wider than it was tall with a design of two nested diamonds in the middle. ‘Though I haven’t had it long,’ Ori went on, tracing its border with a sort of shy pride. ‘I was finally allowed to get it done just before we set out on this adventure - it was still sore the night we came to your house! D’you like it?’

‘I think it’s a very fine one,’ Bilbo said, refraining from mentioning that it was only the second he’d seen. 

‘Dori’s is lovely. Will you show him your mark, Dori?’ Ori asked, leaning across Bilbo to talk to Dori, on his other side.

‘What? Oh, certainly.’ Dori unbuttoned his high collar and folded it back. Just under his collarbone on the left side, and very much obscured by a thatch of silvery hair, was another square set on one corner, with a complicated geometric design inside that put Bilbo in mind of the hedge-maze at Brandybuck Hall. He leaned in to see it better, and Dori blushed, coughed, and quickly buttoned himself up again.

‘Can a mark go anywhere on your body?’ he asked, since those he had seen were in three different places.

‘Yes,’ said Ori, giggling. ‘Nori’s is on his B-U-M.’

‘Yes, well, I’m afraid that’s typical of him,’ said Dori. ‘I’m glad _you_ had better sense. Blessed fool couldn’t sit comfortably for days.’

‘I was wondering about getting one myself,’ Bilbo said, ‘though I wasn’t sure if it would be - well, proper, since I’m not a dwarf. What do you think, Dori?’ He thought it a good idea to appeal to Dori as the expert on propriety; they were getting along better and he would like to keep it that way.

‘It’s a tricky point,’ Dori said earnestly.

‘But it would be great!’ Ori exclaimed. ‘He’d really look like one of the Company then. Could I help you design it, Bilbo?’

‘You understand, don’t you, that it wouldn’t mean the same thing?’ Dori said anxiously. ‘You can’t be initiated that way, not at your age and with your background. I don’t mean to deprecate your background at all,’ he added hastily, ‘but it is _different.’_

‘Oh, I know that,’ Bilbo assured him. 

‘Then you aren’t asking to _become_ a dwarf, with all the ancient rights and duties of a dwarf?’

‘Oh. No, I just rather like the tattoos and thought it would be a nice way to show that, er, that we’re friends.’

‘Oh, _good,’_ Dori said, with visible relief. ‘There’s no trouble as long as you understand that.’

‘I didn’t think he was asking that. You do _fuss_ sometimes,’ Ori said fondly. ‘Anyone can have a tattoo. Bilbo can just have the first _hobbit_ mark.’ His face lit up with an idea. ‘We can make it round! Like the doors of all their little houses! Then there’d be no mistaking it.’ He pulled a pen out of his sleeve, dipped it in his wine and began drawing on the tablecloth. ‘Like this, and your  two Bs inside it, back to back, Berkanan but we’ll make the pointy bits round, you see?’

‘Bilbo _is_ supposed to design it himself,’ Dori pointed out, sounding tolerantly amused, but proud as always of Ori’s artistic taste.

‘But I’m very bad at drawing, and I do like what Ori’s come up with,’ Bilbo said. ‘What if you put a little decoration inside the loops of the Bs?’

‘We don’t want to make it too busy, but we could put little echoing curves inside there,’ Ori suggested. ‘Like that?’

‘Yes, I like that!’ It reminded him of the chevrons inside the square’s points, on Bofur. ‘I wonder where I can find a tattoo artist?’

‘Oh, Oin’s a very good one,’ Ori said. ‘I’m sure he’d do it if you asked him nicely - and paid, of course.’

‘He’d probably accept an IOU, in present circumstances,’ Dori said, patting Bilbo’s shoulder.

 

It was very late by the time they returned to their borrowed house, and Bilbo was yawning long before that. He stumbled stepping down into the boat that would take them back, and would have fallen most uncomfortably if not for Thorin catching his elbow. He leaned gratefully against him during the ride home, forgetting for the time being that he was vexed in that comfortable warmth, and was half-asleep by the time they reached their own jetty.

Thorin carried him pick-a-back into the house and upstairs, pausing at the top landing to give him a little jostle.

‘Which room, bunny?’ he asked in an undertone. Dwalin was passing them, stretching his arms over his head with a mighty yawn.

‘Yours,’ Bilbo mumbled, lifting his head and trying to collect himself. _Oh. Yes. I may be cross with him. Not sure, though._

‘Good,’ Thorin said, and nudged the door open with his foot. He shut it behind them in the same way, carrying Bilbo over to his bed and laying him down before sitting beside him to take off his boots. Bilbo lay looking up at the ceiling, feeling drowsy and muddle-headed. It was so pleasant to be here with Thorin, to be cosily settling down for the night together, that he was very much disinclined to say anything about his doubts. Instead, he sat up and began undressing, with many a pause to yawn, slinging his smart new jacket and trousers over the foot of the bed with much less care than he had shown on the little island. Thorin turned to help him, though he lost interest after three waistcoat buttons and fell to kissing him.

‘Oh...’ he sighed. ‘No...’

‘No?’ Thorin drew back, looking concerned.

‘Not... _no,_ only I’m tired, and don’t want to begin something I can’t finish...’

‘He’s worn you out?’ 

‘Thorin,’ Bilbo said, trying not to sound irritated, ‘it’s after midnight. Do you really wonder that I’m sleepy?’

‘You’ve stayed up later before,’ Thorin said plaintively. ‘And I’ve missed you all day.’

‘I expect Fili and Kili are sleeping soundly tonight,’ Bilbo said, rather more pointedly. ‘With sore bottoms, by the sound of it. You didn’t miss me _that_ much.’ He regretted it as soon as he’d said it, was beginning to regret it even _while_ he said it, but it popped out and hung in the air between them and turned it cold.

‘You spent your day being fucked senseless by your beloved Bofur, so why on earth are you reproaching me with that?’ Thorin asked. He hitched himself away from Bilbo on the bed, glowering.

‘I told you honestly where I was going and with who. Don’t you see the difference?’

‘You had already gone out when they came sniffing around me behaving like cats in heat,’ Thorin said sullenly. ‘You wouldn’t have thanked me if I had paddled over to your little island of love to disturb you and ask your leave.’

‘All right, then. Don’t let’s argue.’ Bilbo took a deep breath, trying to be reasonable. 

‘How dare you accuse me of not missing you? How would you know? Can you read minds?’

‘I don’t _require_ you to miss me.’ The crossness seeped back into his voice. ‘It was only one day!’

‘Well, I _did_ miss you, whether you _require_ it or not. I was bored and lonely. If I sought a bit of comfort with those who love me, where’s the harm?’

‘Is that really all it was?’ Bilbo asked, softening. ‘Perhaps I’ve been unfair.’

‘I should say so.’

‘I thought perhaps you were trying to get back at me. Sauce for the gander.’

Thorin looked at him, baffled. ‘Are you calling me a goose?’

‘I - no - oh dear - please remember that I am very tired, and not at my best!’ Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, then scrubbed his hands over his face before trying to begin again. ‘Thorin. _Dear_ Thorin. I had a beautiful day with Bofur, and here I am back with you. There’s no need for me to be here in your room unless I truly want to be. Please be sure of that. I - I’m sure we’ll misunderstand each other sometimes, but please remember that.’ Hesitantly, he crawled across the space between them and, kneeling, put his arms around Thorin’s shoulders. After a moment, Thorin wound his arms about his waist and pulled him in close, and he relaxed against him, resting his head on his shoulder. ‘I... I don’t want you to take this in the wrong way, but I believe I’m in love with you.’

He felt Thorin’s arms tighten sharply around him, and heard him breathe in deeply. ‘What is the wrong way to take your loving me?’

‘To think that I love only you, or that I love you any the less because I love him too.’ Bilbo lifted his head and pressed his forehead to Thorin’s, stroking one hand into his hair. ‘Because you mustn’t expect me to love as dwarves are supposed to love. If you do, I expect you’ll be very unhappy, and I won’t be able to help it. But if you can be happy with my love as it is, well, here it is.’

‘“Him” is Bofur?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t pretend to understand that,’ Thorin said, his eyes cast down. ‘He’s a good fellow, of course, but...’ He looked up. ‘What about the others?’

‘I’m very, very fond of them, but not in love with them.’

‘Perhaps _because_ we’re so different,’ Thorin murmured, half to himself. He met Bilbo’s eyes again and looked into them steadily. ‘I love you too, and you must never doubt it.’

‘I’m so glad to hear you say that; I’ve been on pins and needles.’

‘But I had already said it. I was agonising because you didn’t say it back.’

‘We were drunk, and so...’

‘You didn’t believe me? Bilbo, I would never lie about such a thing.’

‘I didn’t think you _lied,_ but I thought you might not feel the same when you were sober. So I waited.’

‘Then listen to me now, Mr Baggins. I love you. I am as surprised at it as you may be, to find myself in love so late in the day, but there it is.’

‘Having just turned fifty-one, I know what you mean. I - I don’t know if it would sound insulting to you to say that you may have been in love before, and know how it goes. I haven’t, and only know how it goes in books. That’s why I may be very awkward.’

‘You don’t know if it would sound insulting?’ Thorin repeated carefully. ‘I give you the benefit of the doubt, but if a dwarf met my confession of love with the suggestion that I’d been in love before, he would be rejecting me with the greatest contempt.’

‘I know you’re not _supposed_ to love more than once, but I also know it does happen, and _I_ wouldn’t blame you if you had. I’d even think well of you, for having a loving nature. With hobbits, it’s - how can I say it - it’s not bad to have been in love more than once. It’s very bad to _say_ you love someone without meaning it, and we don’t think much of people who go around saying it lightly, who call a simple fancy love. I don’t believe you’d do either. Do you see what I mean?’ He turned around and nestled himself in against Thorin’s body, leaning back on his chest and looking up at him. ‘Sometimes love doesn’t end happily. It’s all right if, after you’ve recovered from the disappointment, you begin to love someone new. I wouldn’t be sad or angry if I weren’t the first.’

‘You sound,’ said Thorin, leaning back on the pillows and settling his hands on Bilbo’s chest, ‘as if you suspect something and are coaxing me to confess it. Speak more plainly.’

‘Very well then, I wouldn’t blame you if you were once in love with Dwalin.’ He felt Thorin’s body change somehow, growing still and watchful. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you loved him still. I think that whatever, well, got in the way of your love couldn’t have been too terrible, because you still trust each other and are clearly dear friends.’

‘There I’m afraid you’re wrong. It was terrible, but it wasn’t his fault or mine; there was nothing in it to break our trust. We were separated, not by distance but by... station.’

Bilbo rested his hand on the back of Thorin’s, tracing his fingertips over the knuckles. ‘Was this something to do with strata?’ he guessed.

‘Ah, you know then.’

‘Not really. I’m beginning to find out, but there’s an awful lot I don’t know about how dwarvish life works. It isn’t obvious to me.’

‘It goes back to Moria,’ Thorin said, and his voice had that undertone of pain that it had whenever that subject came up. ‘That day, my grandfather died and my father was lost. I was thrust up in the world, and Dwalin could not come with me. When I was but a prince, not yet the crown prince, and my brother lived, the distance was not so great.’

‘I didn’t know you had a brother too! What happened to him?’

‘Moria,’ Thorin said succinctly. ‘Smaug’s taking of the mountain was a terrible blow to our people, but it did not happen through any error of our own. Moria was worse in some ways. My grandfather lost a great city, tried to reclaim another, and lost his life and his son and more of his men than I can bear to remember. Can you imagine the grief and the shame that I felt, for having helped to bring our people there? I could think of nothing, from then on, but protecting them, healing their wounds, and finding them a safe place, though they were but poor lodgings that I found. I wanted nothing for myself, even Dwalin’s love. I had loved him as a young fool with no idea of what life would bring. He understood, of course. He was always at my side, but he never asked for more than to stay there, and to help me.’ His voice lowered close to a whisper. ‘May I tell you something I’ve never told anyone? That hunk of oak that I picked up to be my shield became my friend. I slept with my arms around it just to have something in my arms.’

Bilbo squeezed his hand sympathetically, not knowing what to say to that.

‘So yes, I did love him,’ Thorin concluded. ‘Please don’t mention it to anyone. He knew, Balin knew, and I don’t believe anyone else did. Let it stay in the past.’

‘But I was thinking,’ Bilbo said, ‘if you were King, really King, couldn’t you sort of - raise Dwalin up? Give him a new title? Don’t kings do that sort of thing to thank people who have helped them? I’m sure I’ve read of it in histories. Perhaps that way you could be together again.’ He lost the last word in a gaping yawn.

‘Perhaps, but tonight is not the night to discuss it.’ Thorin kissed the top of his head fondly. ‘You’ve stayed awake to hear my sad stories. I’ll let you sleep now.’

‘But I wanted to ask you,’ Bilbo protested feebly.

‘What?’

‘Well, it’s about Fili and Kili, not about today, about... how did it begin? I don’t understand. That is, I understand that they’re together because of the strata. But you?’

‘Oh.’ Thorin stroked Bilbo’s hair back from his forehead, resting his hand on top of his head. ‘I’m not proud of this, you understand. It’s the type of thing that happens in a family like ours, that common folk aren’t burdened with. I wish I could have arranged for them to know young dwarves of similar rank, their Ironfoot cousins perhaps, but our wandering life simply didn’t permit it. To make a long story short, they asked me to.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘One night I was woken from a sound sleep by Fili, looking very flushed and frightened and begging me to come to their room. I’d known for a while that they were kissing and fumbling, but this was the first night they’d tried to fuck, and they didn’t understand the lubrication they would need, and so Kili was bleeding and I do believe the poor fools thought he was going to die. I cleaned him up, assured him that it was a very minor wound - I really only said “wound” to make him feel brave, it was just a little split on the rim - and Fili begged me to teach him how to do it properly. The best way I could think of was to demonstrate on him. I hadn’t been with anyone for a painfully long time, and they were young, and eager, and welcoming, and they loved me... I let myself. I fucked Fili twice a night for a week before I let him try Kili again. You can imagine how eager he was, having watched us. What I hadn’t realised was that I’d made _him_ want to fuck his brother - his elder brother. Do you see the problem?’

‘It’s only supposed to go one way?’

‘Just so. And I’d taught Fili to love _being_ fucked to such an extent that he _let_ him as soon as my back was turned. They worry me, going back and forth as if there’s nothing in it, but I know it’s my own fault.’

‘Well, I think it just speaks very highly of how good you are in bed,’ Bilbo murmured. His eyes were closing now in spite of him, he had been so lulled by Thorin’s voice vibrating through his back. There was a little worm of desire turning around in his belly, particularly at the picture of Thorin deflowering Fili, but he was so sleepy it couldn’t stir him much. Thorin helped him out of his waistcoat and drawers, and they fell asleep in their shirts, nestled in the middle of the oversized bed.

 

Bilbo woke before Thorin, which he had decided he liked. It gave him time to quietly gaze at him and enjoy his peaceful face, and to think about the day ahead and get his thoughts in order before they spoke. 

First and foremost, there was the vast and astonishing thought that yesterday, he had made and received two declarations of love. It scarcely seemed real, particularly when he added the fact that one of his lovers was a miner and the other was, or would be as soon as he could manage it, a king. He knew of such things only at a remove, the strata that divided them unclear to his eyes. Probably that was quite apt; if they looked at a rock-face they would recognise all the... sorts of rock, and know their names, and what they were good for, and how to work with them. He would see only stripes of different colours, or simply different shades of brown and grey. Bofur would know them as a farmer or a gardener knew plants and soil, while Thorin, he supposed, would know them a bit more as he did, the man who owned the land and paid a gardener or was paid by tenant farmers. He knew far more about flowers than about vegetables or grains. What would be the mining equivalent? Gold and jewels?

It occurred to him to wonder whether Mr Gamgee was still looking after the garden, and to whom his tenants were paying their rent. If they paid it to Mr Gamgee and his family, that would make things come out right, he supposed. Probably the dire Lobelia was insinuating herself somewhere in there, though, taking a cut. He rather wished he’d had the sense to leave a note giving clear directions, but he had hardly been thinking that morning. And here he was tucked up in bed with the one he had bounced up for and followed through the wide world, because he sang so beautifully and gave him such strange dreams.

He brushed his fingertips as lightly as he was able across Thorin’s moustache, and his thick eyebrows. Though they still had their shirts on, his had ridden up over his tummy, and when he looked down between them to their intertwined legs, in the shadows of the bedding, he saw Thorin’s was rucked up too. He quite saw what Bofur meant about the appeal of just a shirt, the way it covered and revealed at the same time. He was greatly taken with the look of Thorin’s soft cock, seeming to sleep too against his thigh. Ah, and there was his mark, the same design as his ornate belt buckle, level with his navel and off to the right, masked by the thick hair. Whoever had done it must have had to shave a patch clear - or perhaps it had been done when he was much younger and his pelt not so thick. His stomach would have been flatter then, too, if Fili and Kili were anything to go by. They were lovely, but he thought he preferred the more mature dwarf physique, with a thicker waist and more meat on the bones.

Having looked his fill, he kissed Thorin awake, feeling him gradually rouse with little twitches of his lips. When he fully awoke, he uttered a deep, contented sigh and rolled Bilbo onto his back, as was becoming his habit. Bilbo wound his arms around Thorin’s neck and gladly received a slow, searching kiss.

 _‘Good_ morning,’ he said when he could speak. ‘I still love you this morning.’

‘Just as well,’ Thorin said. He propped himself on his elbow, stroking Bilbo’s curls back from his brow. ‘What would you like to do today?’

‘I’d like to listen to you tell me tales of Erebor as it was in the good old days, when you were a boy. Tell me all about how splendid it was, and what the rooms were like that you lived in, and the clothes you wore, and what you had to eat and drink, and everything.’

‘It’s beautiful, Bilbo. Even damaged, as it must be, it will still be so beautiful. The greatest work of craft there ever was, all that strong and cunning hands can do, from the mightiest halls and the deepest mines to apartments cosy enough to please even you.’ He dropped his head to whisper by Bilbo’s ear. ‘I dreamed last night that I was fucking you on the throne. I was dressed all in furs and you were naked and pink and white as a flower. How you cried out when I drove my prick into you! They would have heard you down in Dale. Afterwards you sat in my lap wrapped in purple velvet and cloth of gold, and the kings of all the world came and paid us tribute, and kissed your woolly feet.’

‘I can hardly think of anything more embarrassing,’ Bilbo said, smiling.

‘With ropes of moonstones and pearls about your neck and your arms and your waist, and a great glowing opal like a star on your brow,’ Thorin went on.

Bilbo thought that sounded a little overdone, possibly vulgar, but Thorin looked so blissful describing it that he forbore to say anything.

‘That was what you wore my dream, at any rate. What are your favourite jewels?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘I’ve seen so few. My mother had a little diamond in her engagement ring. There aren’t a lot of jewels in the Shire, though girls are often named after them, when they’re not named after flowers. I suppose I like emeralds and rubies,’ he said, since green was his favourite colour, and Ruby Took his favourite girl cousin, because she had always lent him her books.

‘You shall have them,’ Thorin said, kissing his forehead. ‘Perhaps not the purple velvet, though. It’s regal, but you would look terrible in purple.’

‘Like a squashed violet,’ Bilbo agreed, and pulled Thorin down to kiss his mouth. ‘Tell me more about this fucking me on the throne idea,’ he murmured against his lips.

‘We seem to have got sidetracked from Erebor in the good old days.’

‘Bother the good old days. Tell me about all the fucking there’ll be in the good _new_ days.’

‘Rather than telling you, why don’t we just start now?’

‘Mm.’ Bilbo combed his fingers into Thorin’s hair, kissing him delicately, tracing the curves of his upper lip with his tongue-tip and stroking its centre. ‘But there’s no throne.’

‘There’s a chair,’ Thorin said, tilting his head and casting his eyes over towards the fireplace. The look on his face delighted Bilbo; his eyebrows went up, eyes brightening, and he caught his lower lip under his teeth, an eager, boyish expression he associated with Fili and Kili. ‘Right.’ He bounced up on his hands and kees, shrugging the covers off his back, and slid down from the bed, turning back to scoop Bilbo up, one arm under his knees and another around his back. 

‘I can walk.’

‘You don’t have to. If you want to be carried everywhere in a sedan chair, it shall be done. _You_ are the king’s favourite.’ He deposited Bilbo on the armchair beside the fireplace. ‘Sit up straight. Look dignified.’

‘With a bare bum.’

‘Dignity, Bilbo! Majesty! It is not something you wear, it is something you _project.’_

‘Yes. I can see your balls, you know. They look like furry eggs,’ Bilbo said, swinging his feet.

‘Perhaps it will help if you hear someone speak to you in a deferential, reverent tone. You can’t be used to that.’ With a sweeping gestures, Thorin went down on one knee just before the chair and bowed his head, his hair brushing Bilbo’s knee as it swung forward. ‘O great and gracious hobbit under the mountain, I humbly thank you for granting me this audience. Look with favour upon my petition and speak of me kindly to your lord the King.’ He caught hold of Bilbo’s right foot and pressed a kiss onto the instep. It was not a very courtly kiss; it lingered and slid up and down.

‘Go on, then. Petition me. What do you want? Good sir.’

‘Grant me leave to serve you and to prove my devotion.’ A further kiss sliding up his ankle, and Thorin’s thumb stroking under the arch of his foot. Though the skin there was tough and insensitive, the pressure was pleasant.

‘Well, I just don’t know,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully. ‘What sort of service can you offer me?’

‘Only the strength of my body and the skill of my hands, for I am but a humble blacksmith, beneath the notice of great men.’ Thorin’s lips grazed their way up Bilbo’s shin, and he turned his head to kiss the inside of his knee, where the flesh was soft and the skin tender, looking up at him beseechingly from under his thundercloud eyebrows. A thrill ran through him, and he reached out to stroke Thorin’s thick, sleep-rumpled hair.

‘Show me, then,’ he said quietly.

Thorin gazed up at him, and for a moment his eyes were cloudy and uncertain, but they cleared and he nodded very slightly. He crouched there, unmoving, and it took Bilbo a moment to realise he was waiting to be ordered. 

‘Here,’ he said, lifting his cock a little with one hand, ‘see if you can please me with your mouth.’ It was only half hard at the moment, just beginning to swell and sit up. ‘Or are only your hands skilful?’

‘I would give you both...’

‘Just your mouth for now. You can keep your hands on my legs.’ _Oh, help, I don’t know what I’m doing. But if he_ wants _to be ordered about and humbled, well, I want to make him happy. And if he keeps looking up at me like that, oh! it will be perfect._ Thorin would half-hood his eyes for a moment, glancing down at Bilbo’s cock as he began to nuzzle and kiss it, before looking up again to see how he was taking it. He nudged with the tip of his nose, using it to stroke along with his tongue, and worked his way along the hardening shaft to suck at the foreskin, drawing snugger over the head. There was enough play in it for Thorin to slip in the tip of his tongue, lapping softly, then stiffening to probe in around the head, coaxing the skin back from it as he gazed up adoringly.

‘You’re so _enthusiastic,’_ Bilbo murmured. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Mmm.’ His eyes on Bilbo’s, Thorin worked his way down, breathing hard through his nose as he swallowed. Up and down he slid, gulping, his cheeks hollowing and lips reddening, faint grunts and murmurs rising in his throat.

‘You are - oh! - you are quite lovely. Quite lovely for a smith. Do you do this by way of apology if your work isn’t very good?’ He curled his fingers into Thorin’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp.  ‘Or do you just do it because you’re mad for cocks? I bet that’s it! I bet - oh - I bet they all say have your pots and pans mended at the sign of the oak, the smith’s not much more than a tinker but he’ll suck you off for nothing and give you a discount if he likes your taste.’ Bilbo knew he was being quite appallingly rude, particularly by dwarvish standards, and he _thought_ it was going down well, but his invention was beginning to fail him as his excitement grew. It was so impossibly lush and wet and velvety there in Thorin’s mouth, and he was sucking so deeply and avidly, his lips so tight and so soft, that Bilbo’s mind was going blank with flustered joy. He knew he was staring, and feared he was gaping, at his own cock all shiny wet, appearing and disappearing, and Thorin’s _lips_ and _eyes_ and his beard getting soaked with spit.

‘You... you can use your hands now,’ he blurted out, ‘because I want to come, it’s up to you to make me come, you, oh, you can choose though, whether I come in your mouth or on your face, I’ll tell you when and you... oh you can choose...’ His hands clenched in Thorin’s hair as a wave of pleasure rolled through him, not quite overspilling but very close. ‘Oh my - oh my s-sweet smith! There, oh, there, I’m coming!’ He was too dizzy in the moment to watch, but once his head cleared a little and he was sinking into a gloriously mellow contentment, he found that Thorin had chosen to catch his orgasm on his face, his lips and chin all dabbled in white and thin strands dripping down his neck. He was kneeling, rocked back on his heels, his head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth slack and breathing heavily.

After a long moment, he pressed his lips together, wet them with his tongue and parted them again, still breathing deeply. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, his voice thick, ‘quite why you took it into your head to abuse me in those terms, but some time I might ask you to do it again.’ He rolled his head forward and opened his eyes.

‘I thought you were hinting for it, with all that “but a humble blacksmith” business,’ Bilbo said. ‘Just... you know, a bit of friendly teasing. Oh, but you liked it, did you?’ He pulled his shirtsleeve over his hand and reached out to wipe Thorin’s face.

‘No, just -’ Thorin drew his head back. He looked down, frowning, then glared up at Bilbo, his face redder than ever. ‘I want you to wipe it off with your fingers, and feed it to me.’

‘Of course. There... nice?’

‘Mm.’ The fierceness had melted out of Thorin’s eyes immediately, and he was all sweet submission, licking Bilbo’s fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘There’s a bit more here... and here... this was quite a splashy one. I will, absolutely, speak kindly of you to my lord the king, and perhaps to some of his friends too. Would you like them to use your services as a smith, or as a... well...’ He wiped a little dab of come off the tip of Thorin’s nose and transferred it to his lip. ‘More the way I’ve just used you?’

Thorin sucked his lip, thinking. ‘Whatever you decide,’ he said.

‘I think they’ll be very pleased with you,’ Bilbo said, and kissed him softly. ‘Now... would you like your turn on the throne? The King receiving tribute?’

‘I... well, I gave you one of my hands and kept the other for myself,’ Thorin admitted. ‘I’ve come already.’ He shamefacedly showed a creamy hand.

‘Then you’re a very bad supplicant,’ Bilbo said, amused. ‘Shall we just go back to bed and be cosy?’

They lay bundled up together, kissing lazily, their shirts cast off onto the floor, and he cleaned up Thorin’s beard with his tongue like a cat.

‘There may be some times,’ Thorin said carefully, ‘when I may say, for example, “tonight I want you to use me,” and then we could do something like that.’

‘Absolutely. Whatever you like. I’m sure I’ll get better at it with practice.’

‘You won’t mind?’

‘I won’t mind in the slightest. I’ll enjoy it. I meant it when I said you were very sweet like that.’

‘You don’t think I’m... absurd?’

‘No, I don’t. I like you when you’re strong and fierce and you take control, and I like you when you’re gentle and eager and offering yourself up. I like the way you treat me in front of the others and I like the way you’ll only behave when we’re alone.’ Bilbo snuggled in with his head tucked under Thorin’s chin and his arms around his waist. ‘I like _you.’_

‘My bunny,’ Thorin mumbled, and squeezed him tight for a long moment before relaxing.

‘Love you, actually.’

‘And I love you.’

‘Thorin?’

‘Mm?’

‘If - let’s just say if - you ever wanted me to bugger you, I’d do that too.’

‘Oh.’ Thorin had gone still again - not that he was moving much before, but the difference was quite perceptible. ‘There’s no need.’

‘I didn’t say need, though, I said want. If you wanted it, if it would feel good for you, I’d do it in a twinkling. I don’t have a lovely big fat cock like yours, but then, mine would probably be just right for a beginner.’ He felt Thorin’s hands briefly tighten on his back, and felt emboldened to go on, his cheek brushing against Thorin’s chest as he talked. ‘I could finger you first so it would be comfortable, and use lots of oil so it would be silky, and just gently ease it in until it filled you up.’ He could feel and hear Thorin breathing faster, although he remained still. ‘Remember, there are no rules about me. Nothing to say you can’t have my cock if you want it. Mm?’

‘What are you trying to do?’ Thorin groaned.

‘Only to make you happy.’

‘You know, don’t you, that you can never tell anyone? Including Bofur.’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t tell you his secrets either. This can be just for you and me. I’d never have brought it up if I didn’t think you really wanted it.’

‘You absolutely cannot tell Fili and Kili.’

‘Not a word, and not a soul.’ He turned his head to press a kiss and a nose-rub into Thorin’s chest. ‘And you needn’t decide now. Think it over and be sure.’

‘You say that after describing how you’d finger me and ease your oiled cock into my arse? I’m likely to consider it calmly, am I?’ Thorin’s voice was hoarse and rapid.

‘Then take time to calm down, and-’

‘No. No, do it now before I lose my nerve.’

‘Are you really sure? I don’t want you to regret it and be upset afterwards.’ Bilbo tilted his head back so he could look Thorin in the eye.

‘If I am, I’m a fool. It’s what I want. Fuck me. Please.’ There was an urgent throb in Thorin’s voice, and absolute certainty in his eyes. Bilbo slid his arms up to twine around his shoulders and kissed him, soft and deep. ‘Please...’

‘Of course... of course I will. Shh, shh, it’s all right, you feel so tense now. You’re like a bowstring.’ He combed his fingers into Thorin’s hair again, trying to soothe with his lips and his tongue, but the tension in Thorin’s body only grew as he tightened his arms around him, straining against him. ‘It’s all right... it’s all right, my darling. Really, you must try to relax or I won’t be able to get a _toothpick_ in. Let go for a moment. Let go.’ He wriggled back and propped himself on his hands, arms straight. ‘Try just lying on your back.’

‘All right.’ Thorin rolled over, stretching his arms over his head. He tucked his hands under the pillow. Looking down at him, Bilbo felt a great wash of tenderness and desire. Those powerful limbs, the soft-skinned undersides of his upper arms and furry armpits exposed. The position pushed the large, firm muscles of his chest upward, and his thick, dark, silvered hair was a sumptuous mass on the pale pillow.

‘You really are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,’ he said. He stroked Thorin’s cheek, feeling him tremble as he breathed in deeply, and trailed his hand down his jawline, his neck, over his chest. He slung his leg over Thorin’s body and straddled his waist, bending low to kiss him, stroking his arms. ‘And I love you, I love you.’

‘Mmm...’ 

‘I’m going to be very gentle with you and break you in easily,’ Bilbo breathed against Thorin’s lips. ‘Just the way I was when I was a boy. Just the way you should have been. You’ll love it.’ He slid his hands to Thorin’s chest, kneading, feeling his taut nipples swell under his palms. ‘Have you, um, have you had anything in there before?’

‘One finger. My finger.’

‘Often?’

‘Every time I frig myself alone. If - if I’m alone, I can’t come without it.’

‘Really?’

‘Really...’

‘That’s good. That’s very good.’ The mental picture of Thorin, red-faced, cock in hand, screwing a finger in between his buttocks was making him preposterously hard. ‘Um. All right, I want to help you get into a comfortable position. You’ll need to spread your legs, just like that, and we’ll tuck a pillow in under your bottom... there. You look _glorious_ like this, you know.’

‘I feel rather foolish and exposed,’ Thorin mumbled.

‘Well, you’re only exposed to me, and I don’t think it’s foolish.’ He knelt between Thorin’s legs, stroking his thighs, gazing at his deep red cock lying on his belly, and bent to lick it. He could very much taste and smell that Thorin had just come without cleaning himself up; his skin was musky and hot, and when he came to suck the tip he found spunk pooled in his foreskin. He massaged the shaft, drawing the skin up and down, polishing the bare head with his tongue, and heard Thorin panting lightly, his hips lifting and dropping as his buttocks twitched. _Was Bofur, yesterday, good practice for this? I suppose so... I wonder if I should try what he did... no, I want to ask him more about that and learn to do it properly. I’ll just finger him for now._ He sat up and reached over to the bedside table for the jar of oil, dipping his hands and stroking over Thorin’s belly and thighs, cupping and rolling his heavy, warm balls. He gently lifted them and slipped his first two fingers into the cleft of his buttocks, stroking with their sides. Thorin’s muscles clenched tightly for a moment, then relaxed as he released a great shuddery exhalation.

‘Nice?’ Bilbo asked. He went back to suckling, up and down the undershaft, circling the flat of his tongue where the foreskin was anchored.

‘Aah... ah... oh Bilbo...’ Thorin lifted his hips, curling his toes and grinding his heels into the mattress. 

‘I’m just going to start slipping my finger in. It shouldn’t hurt, but you tell me if you want me to slow down.’

‘Mmm...’ Thorin breathed in, deep and sharp, as Bilbo’s forefinger slid into his snug ring. ‘That’s... ah, that’s good...’

‘And your fingers are thicker than mine, so two of mine would be easy, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes... ahhh...’

‘You don’t feel as tight as I thought. What do you like best here? In and out, round and round, both?’

‘In and out. _Hard.’_

‘Like this?’ He pumped his fingers briskly, making a little moist smacking noise. Thorin moaned, tipping back his head, his mouth opening wide.

‘Harder!’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Aah! _Yes!’_

‘Do you want me to - to get right in? No more fingers?’

‘Please, please, please!’

‘All right... all right, but it will be quite a lot more.’ He rubbed his cock with an oily hand, shuffling in on his knees, nudging in between Thorin’s hairy buttocks. ‘Oh... oh, you’re so warm.’ The opening was yielding, but twitching hard.

‘Oh! Oh, Bilbo... oh...’ 

‘Just... just hold still, just let... there, I’m in, I’m in, just... just let yourself get used to it...’ He held Thorin’s hips as he trembled, his back arched, his mouth still open in a great O of pleasure and shock. ‘I know... I know it feels so odd, but it’s all right, it’s all right.’

‘I... oh... I did _not_ know it would feel this big.’

‘Oh, that feels big, does it?’

‘It’s... ahhh...’

‘And how’s this?’ He gripped Thorin’s cock and pumped it briskly. A long strand of precome bubbled out and draped over his knuckles.

‘Oh! _Oh!’_ Thorin’s elbows jerked up, his hands clutching the pillow under his head, his hips shuddering. ‘Oh Bilbo, please, please, fuck me, now fuck me!’ His face was aglow with sweat and fierce delight, and as Bilbo began to thrust in earnest he began to gasp and grunt faster and louder, his cries rising into shouts. He turned his head and grabbed a mouthful of the pillow in his jaws, groaning, muffling himself, though from the rhythm of those cries they sounded very much like pleas to be fucked harder and harder. His muscles spasmed around Bilbo’s cock, his own prick twitching and pulsing. Bilbo sank onto his elbows and fucked away frantically, whimpering, trying desperately not to come yet, not to come, counting in his head, staring up at Thorin’s beautiful face. It was a great relief to feel Thorin’s hips kick up, the hot spray against his belly, and to sink down into his own trembling climax, his buttocks convulsing until he lay still.

‘Ohhh...’ Thorin gave a soft, weak little moan and stroked Bilbo’s hair with a shaky hand. ‘You’ve ruined me.’

‘I’m... I’m not really very good on top... haven’t done it much...’

‘Why _would_ you when you can feel like that?’ Thorin sighed. ‘No wonder you’re such a little slut.’

‘I _beg_ your _pardon.’_

‘Oh, how I envy you! You can be fucked whenever you want it.’

‘So can you, now.’ He gave his hips a little roll. ‘You didn’t need me to be all _that_ gentle. I thought I was in for a long session of slow, delicate fingering, and there you were begging me to do it harder.’

‘I can’t even describe to you... the relief, the peace...’

‘You really needed it, didn’t you?’ He kissed Thorin’s chest.

‘I’ve needed it for over a hundred years. Thank you. _Thank_ you.’

‘You poor, sweet...’ Bilbo pulled out and crawled up to kiss Thorin’s mouth. ‘I’ll take care of you. I will. I’ll fuck you morning, noon and night if you need it. I’m sure the practice will make me better!’

Thorin wrapped his arms around him and rolled them over together, kissing him deeply, sucking his tongue. ‘I still want to fuck you, though. I want both. How could I not, with such a fuckable little bunny as you?’

‘Oh, _good.’_

They lay abed a while longer, kissing, petting and talking a great deal of affectionate nonsense, before getting up and going, wrapped in sheets, down to the bathroom for a proper wash. Clean and dressed, they made an appearance at second breakfast just before the bacon ran out for good. Bilbo sat, swinging his feet and ploughing through a plate of eggs and bacon, looking around the table at the others, talking cheerfully over their breakfast, and it occurred to him that he wished they could live together like this for always. 

Not here, to be sure; Lake-town was neither his proper place nor theirs, but somewhere comfortable and homelike, where there could be mines and forges and workshops, _and_ kitchens and gardens and studies full of books. A place where he could spend a night here with Bofur, another here with Thorin, another with whatever friend he cared to visit. Fresh flowers in every room, and regular meals, and a peaceful routine, with adventures outside for anyone who cared to go on them, but within, comfort and order and contentment.

A further realisation came upon him, and quite stopped him chewing. If, for some reason, he could never go back to Bag End, he would miss it terribly, his armchair and his books and the sound of his tea-kettle bubbling on the hob, but there would be no _person_ he would miss so much that he felt a need to go back to them. His parents were long gone, and while he was very fond of many of his relatives and neighbours, the feeling was only fondness. On the other hand, if he were parted from the dwarves, he would miss them for all his life. Being able to live in Bag End again, or to visit a place as beautiful as Rivendell, would never replace what he had lost. His two lovers, and his dear friends, and even the others to whom he didn’t feel so close, but whose voices and faces were all a part of his days without which there would be the most awful hollow emptiness. How could he choose, now? 

He had come all this way longing to go back, and he still needed his home with an ache that was never quite gone. Now, though, he found himself foolishly trying to work out whether thirteen dwarves and a hobbit could happily share the accommodations of Bag End, and, concluding that they could not even if brothers shared rooms, calculating how far back into the hill he would need to dig the extensions. There was not the smallest chance that they would want to abandon this quest and come back with him; to live in the Shire would make none of them happy. 

Besides that, there were other members of their families to consider, Dori, Nori and Ori’s mother, Fili and Kili’s mother, for that matter, Gloin’s wife and son, who he was talking about at this moment, describing with pride how stubborn young Gimli was when he was set on something. Apparently he had been so determined to come on the present journey that Gloin had had to sneak out of the house before he woke in the morning, first having hidden all his boots.

Bilbo told himself firmly not to get into a state about this; there was nothing he could do about it and things might yet turn out better than he had any reason to expect. He should do something that would make him happy, or make _somebody_ happy, and so he spoke quietly to Thorin while the breakfast dishes were being cleared away, and Thorin approached Ori and offered to sit for his portrait. Ori went quite pink with surprise and happiness, and got into quite a flutter finding the best place for Thorin to sit to be well lit, and making sure he would be comfortable. At last he sat down and began to sketch. 

Bilbo, watching nearby, thought that it was a particularly good day for Thorin to be drawn; he was fairly glowing with happiness and love, his body and face relaxed and unguarded. On the other hand, it would, perhaps, not be a very _representative_ portrait of Thorin Oakenshield with that twinkle in his eyes and that faint smile never quite leaving his lips. Perhaps, for posterity, he should try to look more stern. On the other hand, it made Bilbo feel so foolishly, lightly happy to see his handsome prince looking that way. He pattered off to the kitchen to get to work on the day’s baking.

In this he was helped by Bombur and Dori, both of whom were firmly converted to the hobbit diet. Feeling quite inspired, he decided to teach them both his father’s recipe for cream puffs, reasoning that ‘secret’ applied only to the Shire - it would do no harm if the same recipe were known in distant Erebor. He had found that when Dori was not disapproving of him or worrying about him, he was very agreeable company, chatty, a little fussy, but warm and pleasant.

‘Tell me, Dori,’ he said as they worked, ‘what do you _do_ normally? Or what sort of work _did_ you do before this quest?’ He could not imagine Dori doing anything that involved hammers or picks or, well, dirt of any kind. 

‘Why, I’m a merchant,’ Dori said. ‘I deal in all sorts of fabrics and haberdashery. I’ve had to leave my junior partner in charge of the business, which does concern me a little, but she’s a sensible young woman and what she lacks in experience she makes up in, er, in sense.’

Bombur looked up from his mixing of biscuit dough and nodded approvingly.

‘So once everything is settled in Erebor, would you want to go on with that sort of work?’

‘Why, perhaps. I don’t know. There’s a great deal to settle, of course.’ Dori rolled his eyes and raised his eyebrows expressively. ‘To tell you the truth, and not, of course, to count any chickens prematurely, I’ve been rather hoping that my services might be rewarded with a role at court. Minister of something, chancellor of - well, we never know, do we? A lot of people in this company may be going up in the world a good deal.’ He sighed. ‘That is, if we survive.’

‘Oh, I’m sure we shall!’ Bilbo said, finding himself speaking a good deal more confidently than he felt purely because Dori sounded so gloomy. ‘Please don’t worry about that.’

‘And what did you do?’ Dori asked politely.

‘I - well, I didn’t have to work. My parents left me quite well off, and I have tenants, so there’s always an income.’ He felt embarrassed to admit it, particularly before Bombur, whose family had never been well off at all.

‘Ah, the life of a gentleman,’ Dori said wistfully. ‘It must be nice.’

‘That’s the sort of life you hope for Ori to have, isn’t it?’

‘In an ideal world,’ Dori admitted, smiling and bobbing his head self-deprecatingly. ‘I’m keeping myself busy just now because the thought that he’s in the sitting-room now, drawing the king’s portrait, has me all atwitter, and if I’m _not_ busy I’ll be in there distracting and embarrassing him with my fuss. I do hope he does his best work. Flattering but still honest.’

‘I shouldn’t think a portrait of Thorin needed much flattery.’

‘It’s true that he’s looking well today. Now, if he pleases his majesty, and becomes the royal artist, he could be set for life - and I’m sure we’d hear an end of all this going off on adventures. Ori’s no fool.’

 _He looks well today because he’s in love with meeeeee,_ Bilbo sang in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, [here.](http://dwarfsmut.tumblr.com/post/44696632010/thorin-sucking-dwalins-cock-at-a-tavern-audio) You're welcome. Watch it with the Dwalin soundtrack or mute it and imagine whoever you like.


	13. Delightful and Satisfactory, VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have kept them in Lake-town for EIGHT CHAPTERS now. I would feel bad, but they're enjoying themselves.

It was a very pleasant day, full of excellent meals. Between elevenses and lunch-time he managed to have a very agreeable mutual kiss-and-grope with Bofur in the airing cupboard; after  luncheon he and his fellow cooks iced and filled the cakes and pastries for afternoon tea; and after tea Thorin took him back upstairs on the paper-thin pretext of discussing burglary strategy.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ Thorin said breathlessly, between kisses, pinning Bilbo against the back of the bedroom door. ‘I feel you inside me every time I move. I didn’t know it was going to _do_ this to me. I want more. Please?’

‘I didn’t know it would do this to you either,’ Bilbo said, flushed and rumpled and trying not to giggle. ‘It’s very flattering. All right, if you want another go I’m happy to oblige.’

It was a quick, partly-clothed rut on top of the bedcovers, and Bilbo counted it as a qualified success; his limited technique was badly undermined by the way Thorin kept begging him to go faster and harder, and he simply couldn’t hold out long enough to make him come at that pace. He finished the job with his mouth and crawled up to lie beside Thorin and catch his breath.

‘Thank you, bunny,’ Thorin said fondly, leaning over to kiss his forehead. 

‘You deserve better than _that,’_ Bilbo said, discontented with himself. ‘I speak from extensive experience of receiving better than that.’

‘As you said, you’ll get better with practice. Just to feel you fucking me is wonderful.’

‘May I ask you something quite private?’

‘Of course you may.’

‘About Dwalin.’

‘That is quite private.’ Thorin sounded calm, though, not defensive.

‘I just want to understand better.’ Bilbo rolled onto his tummy and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘You enjoyed watching us together, didn’t you.’ 

‘Very much.’

‘You said that I was where you’d wanted to be but couldn’t.’

‘Mm.’

‘And you said that when you and he were together, he used to fuck between your thighs, and I think I remember you mentioning once that it was hard for him to find a partner who could take him at all.’

‘Yes. When do we get to the question?’

‘Well, I was wondering whether you hadn’t had him inside you because you really, practically couldn’t, because he was too big for you, or if it was the strata again.’

‘Ah.’ Thorin looked away, but after a moment met Bilbo’s gaze again. ‘I don’t know if he was too big for me. We didn’t dare try. It was, as you put it, the strata. I simply couldn’t risk it.’

‘And what would you be risking,’ Bilbo said, very carefully, ‘if you tried it now?’

Thorin reached over to stroke his shoulders with the back of his hand. ‘Bunny, it’s too late to think of anything like that. It’s been decades. We aren’t lovers any more.’

‘But that doesn’t answer the question. What, really, would you be risking? Because - I truly, truly don’t mean this to be unkind or insulting - but haven’t you already lost everything? And here you are, going to get it back. And it won’t depend on whether you’ve kept to traditions about what you do in bed, it will depend on your courage and cleverness and the comrades you’ve inspired to follow you.’

‘There you have it, though. I can’t afford to lose their respect.’

‘I just can’t believe they would stop respecting you, for all the fine things about you, just because of that. Would they really? Is it _that_ bad?’

‘To us it is. If you can’t understand it, I must just ask you to accept that it’s so.’

‘Well, I think it’s daft, and I _can’t_ understand why such nice people would bother with such a - a _mean_ tradition that must stop so many of them being happy! Why not change things? Isn’t that something a king can do? To make himself happier, and let all his subjects be happier?’

Thorin began to laugh. ‘I can just imagine that proclamation being read out by the heralds.’

‘Well, not a proclamation. Just... just to do as you please, in private. There’s nothing wrong with that, surely.’

‘Do you know what I don’t understand about your people?’ Thorin asked.

‘Why we eat so much?’

‘No, I was thinking more of why your marriages are so limited. All only one man and one woman. It means that _you_ can’t ever be married. Doesn’t that seem rather mean to you?’

‘But it’s just the way it is. I’m very unusual, you know. Everyone _else_ wants to get married and have children, and that’s something you need a man and a woman for, and you don’t want any confusion about which children are whose.’

‘How do you know everyone else wants to? Have you asked every last one?’

[Anthropological studies of sexuality in the various races of Middle-Earth have confirmed that indeed, lifelong homosexual activity is very rare among hobbits. Homosexuality is almost universal as an adolescent phase. Many hobbits retain extremely close and intimate friendships with members of their own gender into adulthood, but if there is a sexual element to these friendships it is virtually never acknowledged. A deeper investigation of the cultural norms and taboos involved has yet to be undertaken, chiefly because of a general insistence that it is absolutely nobody’s beeswax. - Ed.]

‘No, of course not. But aren’t dwarf marriages just the same? One man and one woman?’

‘We do have those marriages, of course. But there are also marriages for two men, or far more rarely, two women. It’s rather a necessity, with women so rare generally among us. Some of the men who marry one another are in love. Others are the dearest of friends and wish to be formally known as partners through life.’

‘I didn’t realise,’ Bilbo said. ‘Though - though I suppose it’s practical. And Bofur told me about an arrangement some unmarried men make with their brothers and their wives.’

‘Yes, we do that too.’

‘You’ve sidetracked me, though,’ Bilbo said, stroking Thorin’s hair in turn. ‘Wouldn’t it make you happy? Why don’t we just ask Dwalin to join us tonight? You could just share me and be close to each other. Wouldn’t that feel good? Like sharing me with Fili and Kili?’

‘Why are you so keen?’ Thorin asked.

‘You know me,’ Bilbo mumbled. ‘You said yourself I’m a slut.’

‘Did I upset you when I said that?’

‘It’s not a very nice word where I come from.’

‘Then we need a nice word for a sweet, eager little creature who just loves to be fucked. I propose “bunny”.’

‘That would make a bunny of you, too,’ Bilbo pointed out. He wound a curl around his forefinger.

‘I doubt I _could_ take him, anyway,’ Thorin said abruptly, as if it had been at the back of his mind all this time. ‘I’ve seen the size of him.’

‘But if I can, surely you could. He’s only as thick as my wrist.’

‘Only!’

‘Well. Um. When I was much younger, I had a friend, an older Took cousin, who’d been to Bree on a trip and at the inn he’d met a Man who took him upstairs and they got up to things together, and he said the man got him to put his _hand_ up his bum. Not just his fingers, his actual hand. He told us all about it when he got home, and showed us, well, showed us putting his hand through his other hand, and later on a few of the boys tried it and some of them liked it a great deal and - well, what if we tried that for you?’

Thorin took Bilbo’s hand from his hair and held it in his own, turning it this way and that, considering. ‘You do have dainty hands,’ he said. ‘And I’ve heard of fisting. Never tried it myself.’

‘Oh, is that what it’s called?’

‘Such an innocent, for a shameless bunny.’ Thorin gave him a little smile.

‘Well, I thought perhaps it was something only Men did,’ Bilbo protested. ‘And kindly don’t make fun of me when I’m trying to be helpful.’

‘Those depraved Men,’ Thorin said, his smile broadening. ‘I think I want to try this just to see if it can be done. Let me get properly undressed.’ He sat up and pulled his tunic off over his head.

‘Are we going anywhere this evening?’ Bilbo began struggling out of his own clothes.

‘There’s bound to be some sort of invitation, but I’ll send Balin in my place. The King Under the Mountain is indisposed. Have a Dwarf-Lord instead.’

‘Indisposed? Is that what they’re calling it these days?’

‘In polite society. It’s impolite to say the King is face-down, biting a pillow, with a hobbit’s fist up his arse.’ Thorin threw his trousers across the room, apparently in sheer high spirits, and rolled onto his elbows and knees, presenting Bilbo with a breathtaking view of thick, muscular buttocks and thighs, stocky calves and pale, upturned soles. The dense, curling hair that clustered around his balls and trailed into his cleft was damp and slick with oil, its darkness in sharp contrast to the pearly leakage from the flushed, still-stretched opening.

‘Ah,’ said Bilbo faintly, his mouth going dry with befuddled desire. ‘Well.’ He crept in behind Thorin, reaching over to the jar of oil on the bedside table. They would need to refill it soon, but there was quite enough to coat his hand and wrist. He cast his mind back to those sweet, foolish Took boys so long ago, when he’d watched with wide eyes and burning cheeks. How had it gone? Fingers together. He gave Thorin two to begin with, stroking down to find the little bulge in the slick inner wall and hearing him draw in his breath with a sharp hiss.

‘All right?’ he asked.

‘Only... you’re the only one but me who’s touched that...’ Thorin sighed. ‘And this is new, and strange, and wonderful.’

‘Now the thing is, I think, to keep my fingers bunched together. I’ll try three.’

‘Ohhhh...’ Thorin shivered, a quake up and down his spine, and his ring tightened and fluttered around Bilbo’s fingers. When it relaxed again, he slid in four, staring in wonder at the way the puckers stretched and smoothed, the tender pink flesh swallowing his fingers, so soft and ready. He was perplexed for a moment about his thumb, before he remembered that it tucked in between and behind his fingers. He bore in slowly, his tongue protruding from between his lips in concentration, while Thorin gasped and quivered and ground his hips back against Bilbo’s knuckles.

‘You’re close, very close, you’re up to the widest part,’ Bilbo babbled. Everything felt so _hot_ and slick on his hand.

‘Just a moment...’ Thorin rested his head on his forearms, taking deep breaths through his nose, releasing them gustily from his mouth. ‘I need you to push harder. Don’t be afraid of hurting me. It’s hurting me more halfway in like that.’

‘Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!’ Bilbo pushed smartly, and after an instant’s resistance his knuckles cleared the gripping rim and he was buried in Thorin’s flesh up to the wrist. Thorin gave a great, bitten-off cry, smothered as he plunged his face into the pillows. Gingerly, Bilbo curled his fingers inward, making a loose fist. He was suddenly profoundly glad he had filed his nails down that morning; it had been a whim because he had found rather a lot of sticky dough under them after kneading the bread. The softness around his hand felt so silky he could not help imagining it would tear at the slightest snag, though experience told him it must be a little stronger than that. ‘There,’ he said. ‘There, you’re taking it.’

For a while Thorin only breathed stertorously, deep inhalations and rumbling exhalations. With his free hand, Bilbo rubbed circles on his lower back. 

‘How’s that?’ he asked, and kissed the base of Thorin’s spine. 

Thorin groaned, rocking his head from side to side in the pillow. ‘Getting used to it...’ 

‘If it hurts too much...’

‘I want it.’ A long, low, ragged sigh. ‘Oh, how I want it. Ahh... can you move it?’

‘All right.’ He gave it a gentle, steady push and felt Thorin convulse around him with a savage grunt.

‘Is this how Dwalin feels?’ he gasped.

‘How would I know? Does it feel like you’re stuffed and burning and you can’t bear it but you can’t bear it to stop?’ Bilbo asked.

_‘Yes.’_

‘Can you feel it in your belly, as if your insides are rearranging to hold it?’

‘Uhhh...’

‘Do you want me to grind my knuckles down on the sweet spot?’

‘You’re enjoying this.’

‘I’m starting to!’ His confidence was growing and he was most gratified by this reception.

‘Then... please... _oh...’_

Bilbo passed his other hand under Thorin’s belly, cradling his cock, and felt a thick blot of precome seep into his hand. ‘You’re leaking.’

‘I need to lie down,’ Thorin breathed. ‘Come down with me.’ He slumped down on his belly, his legs splayed, Bibo shifting his free hand to his hip, keeping him steady as he moved. ‘Ohhh... now... now just rock your little fist. There, where it is.’ As Bilbo moved his hand, Thorin moaned, a low, luxurious sound, gently tilting his hips. His face, or the slice of it visible between the pillow and the curtain of his hair, was deeply flushed, his eyelids squeezed closed, his lips parted and wet. He rumbled something Bilbo could not understand, low, buzzing Dwarvish words followed by a long husky groan.

‘Is that good? Can you talk to me?’

‘I love your little hands,’ Thorin mumbled. ‘I feel as if I’m going to die perfectly happy.’

‘Well, don’t. No dying allowed. You must stay alive at least until you come.’

‘When you rock your hand, my cock leaks. Each stroke. You’re draining me.’

‘Do you good. Clear the pipes.’ Using his hand was an excellent idea, Bilbo thought; he was in control of himself, excited but relaxed, and there was, besides, a lovely sense of being in control of what Thorin was feeling. It was an odd feeling, smugly satisfied that he could produce such overwhelming pleasure, but rather awed at the trust placed in him. It was long and slow, a very gradual building, the tension in Thorin’s body growing as he breathed, deep and heavy in through his nose and out through his mouth. His thick brows frowned, loosened, drew upward, his expression growing ever sweeter, softer, as his moans and growls rose in response to the rhythmic stirring in his bowel. His climax was long too, his buttocks and back rippling and shuddering and the softness around Bilbo’s hand squeezing him rapturously. 

Finally he grew still, with a long, tremulous groan that seemed wrung out of him. Bilbo stroked his back with his free hand, up and down the dip of it, soothing him down, crooning to him, and eased his hand out, as gradually and delicately as he had pressed it in. The fingertips were pruned, and after he kissed Thorin’s back once more he hastened to the washstand to give it a good scrub. He pattered back to bed, his hand still damp, and clambered up to lie beside Thorin, draping an arm and a leg over his back and gazing fondly into his face. He stroked Thorin’s cheek, brushing back the hair that clung to his flushed dewy skin, and smiled as his ice-blue eyes blinked open and their corners softly creased. He brushed his fingertips over the apple of Thorin’s cheek, down through the stiff hair of his beard, along the dreamily contented curve of his lower lip.

‘All right?’ he asked.

‘Quite all right,’ Thorin murmured. He brushed his nose against Bilbo’s, nuzzling in to kiss him, a small, sweet kiss on his upper lip, delightfully at odds with what they had done. ‘I feel empty... emptied out... light.’

‘What was it like?’

‘I wish I could show you, but, well.’ He slipped his arm around Bilbo’s waist and squeezed his buttock, emphasising the large grasp of one hand. ‘How I love you...’

‘Are you sore?’ Bilbo asked, curling strands of Thorin’s hair around his forefinger.

‘Not very, but I doubt I’ll leave this bed before morning.’

‘Would you like me to go to Dwalin? And tell him you want him here with us?’

Thorin closed his eyes a moment, then opened them, more deliberate than a blink. ‘Get dressed again,’ he said, ‘and go to see Balin first. Tell him he is my representative for tonight - but Fili should make a speech, too, and sing a song. Then find Dwalin. Tell him, yes, tell him I want him. Say I _ask_ him to join us. Be most particular about that. Oh. And bring back a jug of beer, whether he comes or not. You’ve given me a thirst.’

‘Right. But if I go and talk to Balin with my cock pointing at him through my trousers I think he might possibly take it amiss.’ Bilbo nudged his erection against Thorin’s hip.

‘Possibly,’ Thorin agreed. ‘Though it’s such a charming sight.’ He slid himself down the bed, curling towards Bilbo’s body, and dove in to lick his cock in long, wet, tingling strokes.

‘Want me to come on your face again?’ Bilbo offered.

‘Yesh,’ Thorin said, indistinctly. ‘All over.’

‘Hum for me, and I’ll come for you.’ He was very pleased with that little rhyme, though that was nothing to how pleased he was to have Thorin act on it, gazing up at him with those appealing, worshipful eyes, the bass thrumming through his flesh, Thorin’s lips so pink and wet with the occasional flash of his tongue. One broad hand wrapped his cock and pumped it, and he gasped, twisting his hand into Thorin’s hair and tugging it. Thorin moaned and sucked harder, pulling Bilbo so deep that he made a little choking sound.

‘Gently, now, gently!’ Bilbo protested. ‘Don’t make yourself ill. Will you suck Dwalin like this? Get him to come on your face? His come’s very thick and sticky, isn’t it - do you remember?’ The hum became a groan, and Thorin forced his head down again, his throat twitching. ‘He’ll just cover you... you’ll love it... gargle with it... oh!’ He was trembling with entirely too much pleasure to think of anything else salacious to say, and it was only with a great effort of composure that he managed to pull Thorin’s head up in time to spatter his lips and chin.

They lay together for some time, Bilbo drowsing contentedly and Thorin pensively licking his lips and fingers. At length, he batted the back of his hand against Bilbo’s tummy. 

‘You were going to get Dwalin for me,’ he reminded him, not ungently. 

‘Oh... yes. I’m still going to. I just want a little laze first. I feel _so_ nice. All sucked-out and squishy.’

‘You’ve lazed long enough. Any more and you’ll fall asleep. Put your clothes on.’

Bilbo sat up with a groan. ‘Tyrant,’ he said, hunting about for his shirt. He dressed himself rather sulkily, though he was beginning to feel a little glow of renewed anticipation. As he did up his trouser-buttons he felt a hand on his arm, and looked up to see Thorin regarding him anxiously.

‘Just for now,’ he said, ‘let us _just_ say Dwalin and I are going to share you. That’s enough for me to look forward to.’

‘Right you are,’ said Bilbo. ‘That will be a treat for me too.’

‘And... when he joins us, _if_ he joins us, you understand that I’ll need to be in charge again, don’t you?’

‘In charge, but at my service,’ Bilbo said, smiling. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself. I’ll leave it entirely up to you when you want to start sucking cocks and begging to be fucked. Not a word of such things shall Dwalin hear from _me.’_ He leaned in to kiss Thorin on the cheek. ‘You might want to wash your face, then, because you still have some spunk in your beard.’

 

He found Balin easily, sitting in the merchant’s study and writing letters - to other dwarves, he supposed, to apprise them of the company’s progress, though it would have been impolite to ask. 

‘Hallo,’ he said, trying his best to pay full attention to the conversation in hand, and not to rush on in his mind to Dwalin.

‘Hallo, lad,’ said Balin, dusting fine sand over his signature. ‘All well?’

‘Well, you see, Thorin has sent me to tell you that he’s not quite feeling himself. He doesn’t think he can go out this evening, but he should be all right with a night’s rest.’

‘I see,’ Balin said, with an expression on his face that quite clearly said ‘I see right through you, but as we’re both gentlemen, I won’t call you a fibber to your face.’

‘So he’d like you to be his representative at dinner tonight, and to make sure that Fili makes a speech and sings a song, all properly.’

‘I see,’ Balin said again. ‘Well, you may tell him that I’ll see all is done as it should be - and I hope he is himself again soon.’ He gave Bilbo a small smile and a little nod, and turned back to his correspondence. 

‘Oh. Well, smashing. I, er, I’ll just go and - thanks!’ Bilbo darted out before he could make the mistake of elaborating on his excuse.

Dwalin was likewise easy to find; Bilbo located him in the kitchen, supplementing his afternoon tea with biscuits straight from the jar. He crept up behind him as silently as he could, which was a good deal more quietly than any of the dwarves could have managed, and flung his arms around his waist. Dwalin flinched and grunted, before relaxing, evidently realising it was only Bilbo, perhaps from the height of the head rubbing affectionately against his back.

‘What’re you doing, you daft little bugger?’ he asked, with his mouth full.

‘An ambush.’ Bilbo tightened his arms around Dwalin’s middle, which made as much impression as hugging a tree-trunk. ‘I’m crushing the life out of you.’

Dwalin grunted dismissively and went on crunching. ‘Not bad, these,’ he said. ‘Raisins?’

‘And cinnamon, and rolled oats. Can you guess who wants you, you grumpy sod?’

Another grunt, sounding rather pleased.

‘But not just me. I’m a royal messenger. I’m sent to invite you to join us in his bedroom. He particularly wanted me to say he’s _asking_ you to join us.’

Dwalin stopped chewing and grew still. Bilbo was interested to find that it felt very much the same as when Thorin went still in his arms; the same feeling of watchfulness, not yet alarmed but on the alert. ‘He said that, did he.’

‘He’d like to share me with you.’

‘Would he, now. What brought that on?’

‘He loved seeing us together the other night. Well, I think he especially loved seeing you, all strong and naked and rutting away. So would you like to join us?’

‘What do you think?’ Dwalin asked.

‘I don’t know, hence my asking you.’

‘I mean, what do _you_ think. What do you want?’ Dwalin rumbled. 

‘What do _I_ want? Of course, I want you both!’ Bilbo said, laughing. ‘I want to be the meat in a big strong dwarf sandwich. Smothered in gentleman’s relish!’ He ground his hips against Dwalin’s hard square backside. ‘Come onnnnn. I want you both, and we both want you.’

‘Well. All right then.’ 

‘Excellent! Now, we’ll need a jug of beer, and three mugs, and I should think another bottle of oil, because we’re running low up there. Bring your biscuits if you like.’

Dwalin left the biscuit jar in the kitchen, but insisted on carrying up the tray with the beer and mugs, with frowning concentration, while Bilbo pattered ahead with the bottle of oil. Entering the bedroom, they found that Thorin was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. Somewhere, he had found a velvet dressing-gown, and while it was a great deal too long for him, he managed to make the trailing hem look regal as he rose and walked towards them. 

‘Dwalin,’ he said, reaching out and placing his hands on Dwalin’s shoulders. ‘I’m glad.’

Dwalin looked up at him from under his brows, then down at the tray in his hands. ‘You sent for me.’ His face was growing red.

‘He _invited_ you, very cordially,’ said Bilbo, reaching in to take the tray. ‘And I made a point of saying so, Thorin.’ He took the tray to the table beside the armchair and poured out the beer, a dark amber with a fine head on it, and gave them each a mug. ‘Drink up, and cheer up! Anyone would think you’d gone off me.’

‘Not _you,_ but -’ Dwalin turned to look Thorin in the eye. _‘You_ want me here? For certain?’

‘For certain,’ Thorin said. ‘Did you think I was just gratifying a whim of our burglar’s?’ He leaned in and kissed Dwalin, a light brush at the corner of his mouth.

‘Right,’ muttered Dwalin. He hooked his free hand into Thorin’s hair, yanked him close and kissed him hard, his nose pressed flat against Thorin’s cheek. The impact of it made Thorin spill a little of his beer, and he would have dropped the mug entirely if Bilbo had not snatched it before he let go to throw his arms around Dwalin. Dwalin shoved his mug at him too, and he was left juggling them with his own and feeling rather forgotten as the two of them grappled, low, growling moans and grunts rising in their throats. At length, they broke apart, at the lips at least, panting heavily, a strand of spit stretched between their mouths that broke to fall against Thorin’s chin. His face was flushed, and his eyes blurry and dark; Bilbo thought he was about a hair’s breadth from dropping to his knees. That would be a sight to see. 

After a moment, though, Thorin composed himself and smiled. ‘But we’re forgetting Mr Baggins,’ he said. 

‘He’ll keep,’ Dwalin shrugged, and pulled him back in. Bilbo put their mugs down on the floor and addressed himself to his own while he watched appreciatively. Dwalin was stripping off the top half of Thorin’s dressing-gown, leaving it hanging over the belt, and working roughly over his back with avid, greedy hands, while Thorin kissed him, thrusting his tongue deep into his mouth, showing in wet, pink glimpses. At length, he pushed Dwalin back, holding him at arm’s length with his hands on his shoulders, his eyes crinkling.

‘Forgive me, but I’m thirsty,’ he said. ‘Bilbo? Thank you. I think we three should drink a toast. To... well, to we three.’

‘We three,’ said Bilbo, eagerly, lifting his mug, and ‘We three,’ rumbled Dwalin, accepting the one Thorin passed to him. They clinked the mugs together and drank, Bilbo trying his best to _quaff_ in the proper dwarvish manner, though it was difficult without a beard to absorb the run-off. His chin and neck got quite wet. When at last he had managed to drain the mug, he took a deep breath and summoned the best burp he could. It reverberated in his ears, and when the echoes had faded they were both staring at him, as if shocked. He felt his face flush red and hot, and his ears sang again.

‘Was that wrong?’ he asked. 

‘I didn’t think you had it in you,’ Thorin marvelled.

‘Made me swallow mine,’ Dwalin said, frowning and banging a fist on his chest. ‘Won’t come up now.’

‘I was trying to be _polite,’_ Bilbo said, still crimson. ‘Now I just feel uncouth. Anyway,’ he blustered, ‘you may not have thought I had it in me, but I _want_ it in me, so let’s go to bed.’ He banged the mug down on the hearthstone, grabbed the bottle of oil, and, with a run-up across the floorboards, jumped up - with an undignified slip and scramble on the edge - onto the bed, where he kicked the covers down and began to unbutton himself.

‘Wait a moment there,’ Thorin said, climbing up beside him. ‘Dwalin - help me skin a rabbit.’ They passed him back and forth between them, stripping off his garments by turns and cramming rough kisses into his eager mouth until he was naked, flushed and panting, and highly pleased with himself, feeling outstandingly desirable. Thorin pulled him back into his lap, hugging him about the waist and kissing the side of his neck, gripping with his teeth and growling gently. He reached between them to tug loose the sash of the dressing-gown, letting it fall free and puddle under them, and pressing Bilbo’s smooth back against his hairy belly.

‘Lovely, isn’t he?’ Thorin murmured to Dwalin. He smoothed his hands up over Bilbo’s tummy and chest, squeezing the soft flesh and pressing it inward. 

 _Squeezing my tits together,_ Bilbo thought involuntarily, with just a moment of indignation at the word, muddled up with the pleasure of being stroked and kneaded like that, and of being displayed to Dwalin, who was staring at him hungrily. He lifted his arms up and back, joining his hands in Thorin’s hair behind his head. It wasn’t as if he had a better word for them; ‘chest’ was the whole area and ‘nipples’ were only the tips of the soft little pads. ‘Tits’ would do for the time being. He hadn’t had them as a boy, though he had always had a soft tummy, so having them appreciated in this way was a recent development. _New things to ask for,_ he thought vaguely. _Kiss my ears, play with my tits._ He caught his lower lip beneath his teeth, mewling as Thorin rolled his nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, drawing them out as plump and red as miniature raspberries. His cock was plump and stiff too, nestling up against his belly, pulsing with each squeeze on his nipples.

‘How’s that?’ Thorin asked, his voice a low buzz by Bilbo’s ear.

‘It’s - oh - it’s so - oh dear, I’m...’ He took a deep breath, bit his lip, and tried to force himself calm enough to speak properly. ‘It’s the most wonderful sensation. It throbs and it tingles, it goes right down inside me... it’s as if... it’s as if there’s a string running from each tit to the root of my cock and you’re tugging it.’ Thorin applied a slow, hard pinch to both together, and he gasped. ‘Oh, that’s - oh, it hurts a bit but it’s lovely!’

‘Now, I’m imposing a rule on you for this time,’ Thorin said. ‘You‘re not to touch your cock. Not at all, not even by rubbing it against the bed or me or Dwalin. This is a trial to find out how long it takes you to come by any other means.’

‘A- all right.’

‘Give me your word you won’t.’

‘I promise I won’t,’ Bilbo breathed. ‘Will you help me, though? Will you hold my hands so I don’t forget when I’m excited?’

‘Get up on your knees, and put them on Dwalin’s shoulders. He’ll keep you honest. My dear Dwalin, is there some good reason why you’re still fully dressed?’

Dwalin tore off his clothes in great haste, while Thorin made a show of holding Bilbo’s wrists, and Bilbo feigned to struggle, mostly with the intention of squirming and rubbing his bottom against Thorin’s cock as he sat in his lap.

‘Little tart,’ Thorin mumbled against his lips, and kissed him hard before sliding both hands under his arms and lifting him towards Dwalin. On his knees, Bilbo set his hands on Dwalin’s broad shoulders and pressed their foreheads together; they each had their hands on him, stroking his back and his chest, and his mouth opened in a shaky little moan of delight that he pressed into Dwalin’s. Thorin was massaging his way down his back, his thumbs circling, kissing down the indented line of his spine with occasional soft bites. His hands reached Bilbo’s buttocks, kneading, fingers sinking into the soft flesh and working it in circles, parting and squeezing them rhythmically.

‘My fingers first,’ he said, ‘to prepare you for my cock; then my cock, to prepare you for Dwalin’s.’

‘Oh yes, please, yes,’ Bilbo murmured, arching his back and pushing out his bottom.

‘Dwalin, hold him steady.’

‘Will you take care of me while he fucks me?’ Bilbo asked Dwalin, trying to give him big, soft, trustful eyes, though he wasn’t sure he could pull that off without looking like mutton dressed as lamb. Dwalin flushed to the crown of his head and kissed him so forcefully their teeth clicked together, so he counted it a success, albeit a slightly painful one.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said hoarsely. 

‘He’s playing on your soft heart,’ Thorin said, sounding amused. ‘Don’t let him toy with you, Dwalin. He needs to be very firmly handled.’ He spread Bilbo’s buttocks and spat between them, spreading it up and down with one thumb. ‘He’s stroppy and impertinent and incorrigible.’

‘Oh, so you think Nori was right to smack his arse?’ Dwalin asked. He and Thorin exchanged a look over Bilbo’s shoulder; he could only see Dwalin’s half of it but there was a glint in it that he rather liked.

‘I’m not sure I’d go that far. I’m more interested in getting inside of it.’ Bilbo could hear the soft smack and swish of Thorin oiling his cock. He would quite like to have watched, but it was tremendous fun to keep flustering Dwalin with beseeching gazes and kisses. A slick finger began rubbing over his ring, the pressure gradually increasing until it popped in, making him wriggle with pleasure. Thorin buried his middle and ring fingers in his bottom, his palm pressing above them, and flexed them from the knuckles. Bilbo leaned against Dwalin’s warm bulk, bracing his arms and biting his lip.

‘You’ll know if he’s pleased,’ Thorin said, ‘because he bites his lip. I’m surprised he has any lip left to speak of.’

‘Turning red too,’ Dwalin said, ‘and scrabbling his fingers. Are you all right, lad?’

‘He’s perfectly all right. You need to fuck him more often to get used to the fuss he makes. I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Bilbo?’

 _‘Yes,’_ Bilbo said, emphatically, then had to stop and pant as Thorin’s fingers turned and crooked inside him. ‘Oh, yes... it would be wonderful. I feel like a champion when I take you. You can touch a bit inside me nobody else can reach.’

‘Is that so?’ asked Thorin, pushing his fingers deeper. ‘What’s that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘A tight place up inside. Ah! I don’t know how - how innards work. I don’t like to think - oh, yes, yes, there, I love that!’

‘I’ve heard of that. He can probably fuck through it if you give him time and breathe deeply.’

Bilbo couldn’t speak while Thorin rubbed the tender, swelling spot he had settled on, but after a few breathless moments of joy the pressure lightened and he managed to gasp out ‘I don’t want - what if it makes everything fall _out?’_

‘Then we don’t have to,’ Thorin said reasonably, and pressed down again, pumping from the wrist until Bilbo was frantic, thrusting his hips back against the thick fingers and clutching at Dwalin’s shoulders, unable to get much purchase with his nails so short.

‘And now I’m going to fuck you,’ Thorin breathed, grasping his hips. As he felt the sweet familiar sliding and filling, Bilbo wrapped his arms around Dwalin’s neck and pressed his face into his chest with a long, wavering moan. He was sandwiched between them now, Thorin shuffling in on his knees, his chest hot against Bilbo’s back. ‘Brace him,’ he said to Dwalin, his voice thick and urgent, as he began to grind into Bilbo’s plump bottom. He moved slowly at first, finding his stroke, Bilbo urging him on, very much muffled by his nose and lips being pressed into Dwalin’s chest. There was a thick pink ribbon of scar tissue filling his vision, and his head was full of the sharp onion-smell of sweat, while he was pinned between the two strong bodies, Thorin churning into him and Dwalin pushing back. He had to turn his head to get some air, wiry hair prickling into his soft cheek. 

‘Oh, oh, there! Thorin!’ He was shaking, pulses of pleasure gathering with each stroke and rolling on up his spine. His cock bounced with the thrusts, slapping up against his tummy, an infuriating feeling, teasing at but nowhere near the friction it wanted. Dwalin’s hands overlapped Thorin’s, holding his waist, and they kissed over the top of his head, their breathing loud and snuffling, lips smacking wetly. ‘Fuck me... oh, fuck me...’

‘He is,’ Dwalin grunted.

‘For you,’ Thorin gasped. ‘I want him loose and wet and creamy for you. I want you to fuck him, where I’ve just been, and feel... ah...’ He was cut off as Dwalin kissed him again, grabbing a fistful of his hair and holding him in place, and Bilbo felt his hips jerk and stutter, his hands clutching and nails digging into his skin. _He’s done for,_ he thought, and was confirmed by the groan Thorin gave as he spent. He slumped against Bilbo’s back, moaning incoherently, Dwalin supporting the weight of both. 

After a long moment Thorin peeled himself away and lay back, his cock slipping free. Bilbo felt warm trickles run down his inner thighs with a sort of pleasurable shame, and the well-stretched space inside his bum felt sadly empty. Dwalin was already moving him, sliding shovel hands under his buttocks and lifting him over his erection. ‘Can I?’ he rumbled.

‘Oh, please do.’ Bilbo rearranged his arms around Dwalin’s neck, pressing his face into the axis of his neck and shoulder, and let him lower him onto his cock, wriggling his hips to help it in. It wrung a moan out of him as its thickness stretched him further still, and he felt Thorin’s hand on his back, slick with sweat. 

‘Is it how you described it to me?’ Thorin whispered, leaning close. ‘Your insides rearranging themselves around it?’

Bilbo nodded frantically, uttering a high-pitched ‘mmmm!’

‘And you can’t bear it, but you can’t bear it to stop?’ His hand slid up and down Bilbo’s back restlessly.

‘I want it I want it I want it!’ He wrapped his legs around Dwalin as well as he could, which was not very well at all. ‘Ohhh...’ His cock was snug between his soft belly and Dwalin’s harder one, and although he could not yet work his hips, not until he got used to the huge fullness, he was dying to rub it there.

‘Let me,’ Thorin murmured, moving behind Bilbo again. He slid his hands under his arms and peeled him away from Dwalin’s shoulders, taking his weight against his own chest. ‘There. Steady? Good.’ He kissed Bilbo’s cheek. ‘Did you think I’d forget? Put your hands behind my head again. No wanking. Just let Dwalin fuck you.’

‘All right, but... oh...’ He squirmed as Dwalin pushed into him. 

‘That’s it. Oh, I love to see your face... not to mention his cock ploughing into you.’ He wrapped one arm tight around Bilbo’s chest and reached out the other hand to stroke Dwalin’s shoulder. With a soft grunt, Dwalin turned his head to kiss his fingers, looping one arm under Bilbo’s back, freeing his other hand to clutch Thorin’s hair. They stared into each other’s eyes, and Bilbo abruptly felt like something of a gooseberry, even in mid-fuck. He could see the look on Dwalin’s face, though it wasn’t for him; it said more plainly than words could, ‘this is what I want to do to _you.’_  He was squashed breathless between them as they kissed, Dwalin grinding and rooting deeper into him, reaching the tight place, and then came a shocking sensation of shifting and yielding that made him yelp.

They broke apart, all heavy breathing and consternation.

‘D’I hurt you?’ Dwalin panted. 

‘I don’t... no... no it doesn’t _hurt..._ oh, it’s all in...’ He thought his tummy should be bulging with it.

‘It’s all... it’s all in,’ Dwalin repeated, looking stunned. ‘Thorin. It’s all _in.’_

‘Are you _sure_ you’re all right, Bilbo?’ Thorin asked. ‘If we’ve gone too far...’

‘No no no... just hold me... oh...’ He arched his back and rolled his hips, his eyes squeezing closed and his tongue-tip popping out. ‘Oh, that’s lovely...’

Dwalin began to thrust again, hesitantly, quickening with Bilbo’s delighted moans. His ragged breathing grew to a growl, and he grabbed at Thorin’s hair again, kissing him forcefully. Bilbo no longer cared if he was a gooseberry, or a surrogate, or anything else. He was beside himself with pleasure, and it only grew. He stiffened, pushing hard against Dwalin, holding his breath, his toes curled and clenched, and lost that breath in a series of weak, joyful little cries as he came. 

‘He’s gone,’ he heard Thorin say, and Dwalin replying ‘Just a bit - just -’ followed by a series of hard, slapping thrusts and grunts to match before he subsided. Now Dwalin sagged, leaning on Thorin, until Bilbo was quite squashed and grumbled in protest. 

‘Sorry,’ Dwalin mumbled. He eased himself out with great care before falling on his side with a thump. ‘I think,’ he said thoughtfully, and then seemed to lose track of what he thought, a dreamy look on his face.

‘What do you think?’ Thorin asked, lying down beside him as Bilbo rolled onto his tummy between them, feeling entirely, contentedly exhausted. What Dwalin thought, he never knew; he pulled a pillow under his head and dozed off, their voices a deep buzz in his ears.

They were still talking softly when he woke, not knowing if he had slept a long time or a little. It was wonderfully cosy where he was, and felt familiar somehow. It was not really like lying in bed between his parents’ cushiony bodies when he was a little boy, but it had the same sense of being securely, warmly boxed in and protected. He lay quietly, both lazy and curious, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation without showing that he was awake.

‘... can’t pretend I understand him, even now,’ Thorin was saying ruefully.

‘Not sure there’s that much to understand,’ Dwalin replied. ‘He likes his food, he loves a fuck, he’s a bit namby-pamby but he’s got some pluck when it counts. He’s all right.’

‘High praise coming from you,’ Thorin said fondly. ‘I remember the first time you told _me_ I was “all right” - I almost burst with pride.’

‘You always were daft,’ Dwalin said, equally fondly. Bilbo felt them press closer together, and there was the sound of a soft, lazy kiss before they parted again. It made him smile into his pillow to hear it.

‘He says some very odd things,’ Thorin went on. ‘He really doesn’t understand why some things must be as they are - it seems hobbits have no notion of strata at all.’

‘What, everyone all the same? Sounds uncomfortable to me. How would they get anything organised? How do you know where you stand?’

 _No, not at all,_ Bilbo wanted to say, _that’s oversimplifying it by far - we’re just not as stiff about it as you are. Which I suppose is just right, given where we live - we’re soil and you’re stone._

‘They’re more free in some ways and less free in others - anyone can marry anyone, it seems, as long as they’re a man and a woman. He says he’s an oddity, not having a wife and children.’

‘Doesn’t seem the type, anyway,’ Dwalin said. ‘Do they _all_ pair off and breed?’

‘It sounds like it.’

‘They must be fertile little buggers.’

‘Like rabbits.’ Bilbo could hear the smile in Thorin’s voice, and was very slightly indignant. ‘Do you know the strangest thing, I think, that he’s said?’ There was a little pause during which Dwalin must have nodded. ‘That he’s in love with me, _and_ in love with Bofur.’

 _‘Bofur?’_ Dwalin repeated. 

‘There’s nothing wrong with Bofur.’

‘No, there’s nothing wrong with Bofur, but he can’t be in love with both of you. He needs to make up his mind, and not muck you about. I’m not best pleased to hear that.’

‘I think there could be something in it. For him, at any rate. Clearly, Bofur and I are very different. He can’t love us for the same reasons. I suppose we occupy different, yet equal places in his heart.’

‘Well, then he’s not really _in_ love with either of you. There’s only room in a heart for one of those.’

‘Well, a dwarf’s heart, I’ll grant you, but who are we to say a hobbit’s heart is the same?’

‘What good is it if it’s not?’

Thorin moved his arm, lifting it across Bilbo to stroke Dwalin’s cheek. ‘My guardian. Fierce and strong as a bear. You’ll protect my heart from his wicked ways.’

‘Don’t take the piss,’ Dwalin grumbled.

‘I’m not. Well. About the wicked ways. Yes. Never about you. I would never make light of _your_ heart.’ He moved closer, touching his forehead to Dwalin’s. ‘Please never doubt it.’

They were quiet for a time, Thorin stroking the smooth crown of Dwalin’s head.

‘Why did you ask me back now?’ Dwalin asked quietly.

‘He encouraged me to. I never dared before.’

‘I would always have come.’

‘I thought so.’ There was another long pause, and then Thorin said ‘He makes it safe. He doesn’t see the difficulty, of course. Why should he?’ He was quiet again, then said in a rush, ‘I’m so ashamed of what I want from you.’

There was a soft rustle as Dwalin slid his hand into Thorin’s hair, still pressing their foreheads together, and held him, his hand heavy and steady at the back of his head. They were both silent, and Bilbo began to feel uncomfortable about listening to that silence. It drew on, and his bladder began to bother him.

‘You’re no worse than I am,’ Dwalin muttered. ‘I know my duty. I’m resigned to it. You haven’t put temptation in my way. I still want... it’s no good.’

Bilbo could feel that watchful stillness in Thorin’s body. ‘Tell me what you want,’ he said, very quietly.

‘I want...’ Dwalin said, and paused, turning things over in his mind. ‘I want to grab a handful of your hair, and jerk your head back, and cram my cock down your throat and fuck it raw. I want to paint your face white. I want to hang onto your hair and turn you round and spread your legs and fuck you till you cry.’

‘And the tears make tracks in the come?’ Thorin asked, sounding as if his mouth was dry.

‘After that I want to kiss you and cosset you and dry your eyes. I want you to fall asleep with your head on my breast, and keep my arms round you all night. Before morning I’ll want to pillage you again.’ Dwalin gave a low growl of frustration. ‘What’s the use?’

‘Do it.’

There was a short, shocked pause. ‘We’d wake Bilbo,’ Dwalin said, very carefully.

‘Do you think I care if he knows? Do you think he cares if we do? You could fuck me with my head and shoulders hanging out of the window for every Lake-man to see me panting and moaning like a whore. There’d be no complaints from Bilbo Baggins.’ Thorin’s voice dropped lower. ‘What songs would they sing of me then, do you think?’

‘The King beneath the mountains, the King of carven stone...’ Dwalin murmured, then, with a rumble of laughter, ‘Dwalin, son of Fundin, has come into his own!’ He kissed Thorin hard, and they rolled together, provoking Bilbo to squeak in indignation and give every sign of waking up abruptly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I've known from the start that I was writing fantasy, and I made an effort to research fisting and present it with some plausibility, I can't help feeling that I've stretched poetic licence in terms of how quickly Thorin gets used to it and begins to enjoy it. I don't know. Still, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Fairly transparently, there will be more cavorting with Dwalin in the next one.
> 
> ETA: OH! And I nearly forgot! [hobbitdragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon), who is a wonderfully encouraging fan of this story, has been drawing pictures inspired by it, and they're _very good._ We've had a lot of discussions about how we 'see' Bilbo, with a distinctly plump, soft body, so these are based on that concept rather than on Martin Freeman's build (not that I am knocking Martin Freeman or his build).  
>  Here's a [Bilbo and Bofur](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/44284460852/my-pencil-slipped-in-class-again-also-bofurs)  
> a [Bilbo and Thorin](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/45251110650/ive-been-challenging-myself-to-draw-kissing) (I especially enjoy Thorin's eyebrows in that one)  
> another [Bilbo and Thorin](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/46410503250/more-bilbo-and-thorin-this-time-i-remembered-the) with especially good Oakenshield hair  
> and my favourite one of [Bilbo and Thorin](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/45098217130/i-admit-im-very-proud-of-this-one-i-think-its). So a big hand to him for his artistic excellence!  
> Or a little, nimble hand. As the case might be.


	14. Delightful and Satisfactory, IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This short chapter is rated for Very Emotional Dwarves and Manly Tears.

Dwalin and Thorin were oblivious to Bilbo’s complaints about the impropriety of suddenly rolling over, regardless of bedfellows in one’s path, particularly when one weighed what Dwalin did. They were tangled together, a tight knot of stocky limbs, kissing voraciously. Dwalin’s fists were knotted in Thorin’s hair, while Thorin was clutching his back so tightly that his fingertips turned yellow-white and made deep dents in the hard flesh. Bilbo sat up and wriggled around to have a better view of their faces, as they drew apart a little, Thorin still eagerly licking at Dwalin’s lips, straining to lift his head and reach them as Dwalin’s grip on his hair held him down.

‘Tell me again what you want,’ he rumbled.

‘Fuck me. Please. Use me. Come on me and in me and make me yours.’ Thorin took a deep breath and blurted out ‘Put your mark on me in a hidden place. Brand it into me and let me feel it burn.’

‘One thing at a time,’ Dwalin said. ‘I think you’ll be burning in a hidden place when I’ve fucked you.’

‘Very likely true.’

‘Your arse isn’t a virgin, is it?’

‘Not quite.’

‘That’s a relief. Who have you let fuck you?’

‘Only Bilbo.’

‘Still as good as a virgin, then.’

‘I say!’ Bilbo objected.

‘Quiet, you,’ Dwalin growled, and kissed Thorin again, hard enough to bruise his lips, both of them breathing loudly and gustily through their noses. Bilbo relieved his wounded feelings by putting his tongue out at them and crossing his eyes.

‘You should be thanking me for paving the way,’ he said, still a little huffish. ‘Not casting aspersions on my cock. It was good enough for _him,’_ nodding towards Thorin.

Dwalin lifted his head, leaving Thorin panting and hazy-eyed, and gave him a crooked smile. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘And thanks for not stretching him out too much, too.’

‘I may have stretched him more than you think. I had my hand in up to the wrist. Which he particularly wanted to see if he’d be able to take _you.’_

‘Did he, now?’ Dwalin asked. He looked down at Thorin. ‘Who’s a greedy little slut, then?’

‘Me. I am.’

‘Right you are.’ Dwalin gave Thorin’s head a little shake.

‘And I would like to add that he absolutely loved it,’ Bilbo said, with a touch of pride. ‘So I think you can be sure of a warm welcome.’

‘You _have_ been a help,’ Dwalin said. 

‘I’d like to go on helping, if I can. I want both of you to enjoy this as much as possible. So is there anything at all you’d like me to do? Could I bring you anything to make you more comfortable?’ 

Dwalin considered a moment. ‘Got anything I could use to tie his hands?’

‘Oh... um... here!’ Bilbo found the velvet sash of the dressing-gown tangled among the covers, and held it out. 

‘That’ll do.’ Dwalin lifted himself to sit astride Thorin. ‘Hands,’ he said curtly. Thorin offered them, wrists together, and he bound them firmly, leaving one long end of the sash hanging loose. He passed that through the posts of the bed’s headboard, drawing Thorin’s arms up over his head, and made it fast, leaving a few inches’ play in it. ‘Good. And if you need me to stop, what’s the word?’

‘Gold. It was always “gold”,’ Thorin said, wetting his lips with his tongue.

‘Glad you remember.’ Dwalin glanced at Bilbo. ‘You might hear him saying things like “no” and “stop.” Don’t take it seriously. He might look upset, but unless he starts yelling about gold he’s quite happy.’ He looked back to Thorin, cupping his cheek with one hand and stroking with the side of his thumb. ‘You use it if you need to. I’m going to go further than we used to, so... just you use it. Don’t think twice.’

‘How can he use it if your cock’s in his mouth, though?’ Bilbo asked, a little concerned. He didn’t want Thorin to actually choke. 

‘That’s where you can help. You look at his hands if you think he might be in trouble. If he is, he’ll do that.’ Dwalin nodded, and Thorin made a deliberate gesture with his fingers. ‘That says “gold” too. See? I’ll keep an eye out too, but if you see it first, tell me, or give me a whack or something. Oh,’ he added, ‘and if he says “silver” that means he wants me to slow down or be more gentle, but I never did hear that out of him. Did I?’ He shifted his hand to grip Thorin’s chin, fingers and thumb pressing in on his cheeks and pushing out his lips. Thorin shook his head, gazing up at him with wide, dark, trustful eyes. ‘That’s my boy,’ Dwalin murmured. He slipped his thick, blunt forefinger and middle finger into Thorin’s mouth, and he sucked eagerly, briefly closing his eyes, a low moan rising in his throat.

‘Bilbo,’ Dwalin said, ‘do us a favour, would you? I’d like to wash my cock before it goes down Thorin’s throat. Can you nip over to the washstand?’

‘Right you are!’ Bilbo said. He had been staring at Thorin’s flushed face, quite bewitched, but he pulled himself together and hopped down from the bed to gather up basin, ewer, soap and a towel. Clambering back up was harder work, but Dwalin took the ewer with his free hand, to prevent him spilling anything. He was still kneeling astride Thorin, working his fingers in his mouth, the two of them gazing intently at each other. It seemed a shame for him to move, Bilbo thought. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘let me.’ He spread the towel over Thorin’s chest and leaned in to wet and soap Dwalin’s cock, standing up thick and hard, its tracery of veins bulging. Dwalin made a very faint, suppressed sound as he rubbed, half a growl and half a groan. 

‘Is that all right?’ he asked. 

‘It’ll do nicely,’ Dwalin breathed. ‘Rinse it off well. No soap or shit for my boy, only clean cock and come.’ He sighed as Bilbo rinsed and blotted his cock with the towel. ‘There.’ He waited for Bilbo to clear the washing-things away, gradually shuffling forward on his knees, bringing his cock closer to Thorin’s face, but not close enough to touch. ‘Do you want it?’ He withdrew his fingers, trailing spit, to let Thorin speak.

‘Mm.’ 

‘Tell me.’

‘Please, please, please... fuck my mouth.’

‘Get it wet first.’ Dwalin hitched himself forward to lay his erection over Thorin’s face, the head alongside his nose. ‘Good. Lick. Ahh...’

As Thorin bathed the underside of Dwalin’s cock with his tongue, Bilbo lay down on his elbow just beside him, stroking his hair gingerly, glancing to Dwalin for approval. Dwalin gave a grunt and a nod and leaned forward a little, grasping the top of the headboard and steadying himself on it. ‘You look just beautiful,’ Bilbo murmured. ‘You’re all rosy, and your lips are puffy, and you look just... as if you’re worshipping it. Is that how you feel?’

‘Nngh...’ Thorin tilted his head to reach up to the tip, flickering his tongue under the head. Bilbo nuzzled in to whisper in his ear.

‘Are you imagining you’re the dirty little smith again?’ he breathed. Thorin grunted sharply and shifted on the bed, drawing up his legs. ‘Should we tell Dwalin about that or do you want to save it for later?’ He kissed Thorin’s earlobe and flicked his tongue along the rim of his ear, up to the silver cuff that pierced it.

‘Are you distracting him?’ Dwalin asked, reaching one heavy hand down to ruffle Bilbo’s curls.

‘I’m only telling him how lovely he looks, and how much you must want him,’ Bilbo said. ‘And how I’m getting all hot and bothered watching.’

‘Want a turn?’

‘It’s so nice of you to offer, but for now I think it’s even more fun to watch. I can pay far better attention than I can when I’m involved myself.’ He sat up again, kneeling and sitting back on his heels, his cock sitting up firm and pink between thighs and tummy. ‘D’you see that, Thorin? Just turn your eyes this way. That’s for you too. Because you’re so lovely. Now don’t let me put you off! Just you enjoy Dwalin’s cock.’

‘He is,’ Dwalin grunted. ‘Ooh...’ He gave a sudden convulsive twitch of his hips, rubbing his cock firmly against Thorin’s nose and lips. A thick, glistening blot of precome emerged and slid from the bridge of Thorin’s nose down his cheek, and he took a deep, shuddery breath.

‘Want to help him?’ Dwalin asked. Bilbo swiped his fingers over Thorin’s cheek and smeared the juice down to his lips. He moaned, slurping at Bilbo’s fingers for a moment before sealing his lips to the underside of Dwalin’s cock and sliding up and down, and was rewarded by another blot which slid into his eyebrow and down over one eyelid. ‘There,’ Dwalin said, taking his cock in hand and wiping the head of it through the wetness, smearing it over Thorin’s face, tickling himself with his eyebrow as Thorin’s mouth gaped in a soundless ‘O.’ He blinked hard, his wet eyelashes clinging together in dark spikes.

‘And there,’ Dwalin said, pushing the head of his cock into Thorin’s mouth. He closed his lips on it instantly, sucking avidly, his eyebrows crumpling together and the red of his face deepening, the colour spilling down his throat as Bilbo watched. His hand stole into his own lap, twiddling at the tip of his foreskin, and he nibbled at his lip. Dwalin combed his fingers into Thorin’s hair, pushing back from his forehead, curving around to clutch a bunch of it at the back. _‘There,’_ he grunted, and shoved his cock deeper. Thorin groaned, his lips stretched tight around its shaft and the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

Dwalin began to pump his hips slowly, drawing back so that Thorin’s cheeks hollowed in suction, nudging a little deeper with each stroke inward. His breathing was hoarse and deep, a rumble in his chest and a hiss in his nose, and his brows were drawn down in a thunderous frown. His big, blocky body was taut, rigidly controlled, sweat breaking out in beads over his scalp, neck and shoulders, trickling down the line of his spine. ‘That’s it,’ he murmured, ‘that’s good. Breathe.’ 

As he bore in, there was a moment when Thorin gagged and gulped, breathing explosively through his nose before he managed to swallow again, saliva overflowing the corners of his mouth and dripping into his beard. Dwalin tightened his fist in his hair, drawing his head back a little further and straightening out his throat. At last his nose was buried in the hair on Dwalin’s belly, large, heavy balls resting on his chin, his face crimson with thick veins standing out on his temples, giving a gurgling moan. Bilbo stared, his own mouth open and watering in sympathy, his right hand frantically swivelling around his stiff little prick. Dwalin began to thrust in earnest, groaning, the bulky muscles of his buttocks and thighs flexing visibly as he moved faster. Deep grunts burst out of him, becoming frenzied. 

‘There!’ he cried, drawing back, jerking out, leaving Thorin gaping and sucking air, and clutched the base of his cock as gouts of come burst out, spattering Thorin’s red face with glistening white. He leaned heavily on the bedhead, his head on his forearm, shuddering and murmuring joyfully. ‘You too, Bilbo,’ he managed to say.

‘Me? Oh!’ He shuffled in, jerking and milking until he added to the creamy blobs, streaks and speckles on Thorin’s face and slumped against Dwalin’s flank, shivering and beaming. He sank down on his heels again as Dwalin dismounted, rolling onto his back beside Thorin, passing his hands over his face and back over the crown of his head.

‘Ahh... oh, that was _prime,’_ he groaned. ‘You all right, lad?’

Thorin breathed, coughed, made a sound, coughed again, and managed to say ‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ He licked his lips and swallowed thickly before coughing yet again, his cheeks puffed out. 

‘I’ll bring you a drink of water,’ Bilbo said, picking himself up and kissing Thorin on the forehead. He clambered down again and rinsed one of the mugs with a little water before refilling it from the ewer and bringing it back to bed, where he helped Thorin to lift his head and drink. After a few swallows he dropped back on the pillows, looking greatly relieved. ‘What else can I do?’ Bilbo asked fondly, stroking the hair back from his forehead. ‘Would you like me to wipe your face?’

‘Give me a kiss.’

‘Mm. Oh.’

‘Mm?’

‘This, here, is me,’ he said, licking Thorin’s upper lip, ‘and this, here, is Dwalin,’ sucking his lower lip. ‘I can taste the difference.’

‘You are both delicious,’ Thorin said, his voice still hoarse.

‘No we’re not,’ Bilbo said, smiling. 

‘Purely a matter of - hrm - personal taste.’

‘Give,’ Dwalin sighed, rolling over and nudging Bilbo out of the way to plant a wet kiss of his own, sweeping his tongue over Thorin’s lower lip. ‘Mmm! Tastes like hobbits. How are your hands?’ He reached up to feel Thorin’s fingers. ‘Nice and warm. Not hurting or numb?’

‘They’re fine.’ Thorin lifted his head to press a soft kiss to Dwalin’s chin. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me until we’re finished,’ Dwalin said. ‘Turn over.’ He rolled Thorin onto his belly, putting a twist in the velvet sash, sliding his hand down his back to grip and shake one buttock. ‘Up on your knees.’

Thorin grunted, getting onto his elbows and lifting his rump in the air. 

‘Looks as if he’s still a bit loose,’ Dwalin said, pressing his thumb into the cleft and prying Thorin’s buttocks apart. ‘Show me what you did to him, Bilbo.’

‘I just did this.’ Bilbo oiled his hand and slipped in two fingers. ‘See how easily he takes that? Because he’s been training himself, thinking of you. He _does_ love you. I know he wants you with all his heart.’

‘Hrmph.’ Dwalin sounded pleased. 

‘And hasn’t he got a beautiful bum?’

‘You’re not selling him to me. I was mooning over that arse before you were born.’ He leaned closer and said, confidentially, ‘He used to be a devil for bending over in front of me. I had these little crescent cuts in my palms from clenching my fists. I lost my head and bit it once.’ He kissed a spot just beside his hand, in the L of his thumb and first finger, and very deliberately repeated the bite, with enough force to leave two indented semi-circles printed in the skin, white flushing pink as the pressure came off. ‘Bad form for wrestling.’

‘Then I just slipped in the other fingers, just like this.’ Bilbo could feel Thorin tensing, his breathing coming short and quick. ‘How’s that?’

‘Hurts,’ Thorin said faintly.

‘Remember, you can say “silver” or “gold” to me too. I won’t keep going if you’re not enjoying it any more.’

‘I know. Didn’t say it. Go on.’

‘Then... well, then I tuck my thumb in and keep pressing in. See? How it slips in? It’s almost _sucking_ me in. It’s the most extraordinary feeling.’

‘Looks made to take me,’ Dwalin breathed. He leaned in and bit Thorin’s buttock again, sucking and pulling, raising a fresh red bruise. ‘D’you know you won’t be sitting down for a few days? Sleeping arse up? Walking bow-legged?’ Another bite, smacking his lips against Thorin’s flesh. 

‘And - and there, there, it’s gone in,’ Bilbo stammered. ‘Let me just - just - adjust it a little bit...’ He could feel Thorin trembling and flinching, and put his other hand on his lower back to stroke and soothe. When he looked along his side, he could see Thorin’s head was hanging down on his arms, a tumble of thick black hair streaked with silver, and his shoulders were quivering. Looking back, even his feet were twitching, his toes crossing over each other and digging down into the mattress. ‘I’m just going to hold still until you’re a bit more comfortable.’

‘You don’t have to baby him,’ Dwalin said. 

‘I’m sure _you_ won’t,’ Bilbo said, smiling. ‘Look at the pink puffy rim, isn’t it lovely? Imagine how that will feel hugging your cock. Look how - here - if I pull my hand back just a touch, look how it stretches _out._ Oh! Sorry, Thorin.’ That had drawn a muffled cry that sounded rather painful.

‘Do it again,’ Thorin mumbled.

‘You’re sure?’

_‘Fuck_ me.’

‘Then... there... is that good?’ He attempted a gentle pumping motion.

Thorin groaned, pressing his hips back, his cock twitching and dripping. _‘Fuck_ me!’

‘Enough of that,’ Dwalin growled. ‘I’ll fuck him properly. Pull out.’

‘All right, hang on, can’t you? I don’t want to turn him inside out. There. Theeere.’ He drew back and wiped his hand on the crumpled towel. Dwalin moved in, up on one knee, his other leg alongside Thorin’s hip.

‘Here it comes,’ he said. ‘Bite down.’ He gripped his cock and crammed it in, fast and rough. Thorin gave a strangled scream, his teeth fixed in his own forearm, and Bilbo jumped despite himself. ‘Now get your head up.’ He gathered Thorin’s hair into a bunch, twisted it around his hand, and jerked it up. ‘Now you belong to me.’ It was said with a hard thrust for emphasis.

‘Oh please... please, stop, it hurts.’

‘Dwalin,’ Bilbo said anxiously.

‘Shut up,’ Dwalin said, hips pumping.

‘Oh no... no... you’ll ruin me... stop, if you love me at all!’

_‘Dwalin,’_ said Bilbo, wondering if he would really have to intervene.

‘Shut _up,’_ Thorin hissed under his arm, before another hoarse cry was punched out of him. ‘That _hurts!_ Damn you!’

‘You’re so loose a horse could fuck you,’ Dwalin growled. ‘Should have done this years ago. Called the lads in to watch. Let them see what their prince really is.’

‘Please!’

‘Let every man under the mountain empty his balls on your pretty face. Piss you clean.’ He gave a savage tug on Thorin’s hair, grabbing the front of his thigh with his free hand.

‘Please don’t...’

‘You’re mine and I’ll do whatever I want with you. You’re mine. You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.’ Dwalin released Thorin’s hip to swipe his forearm across his eyes, wiping away not sweat but tears. _‘My_ prince, _my_ love, _my_ treasure, _my_ whore. Fuck you till you cry, love you till I die.’

‘Fuck!’ Thorin was trembling violently, his cock spitting white, tears streaking alongside his nose and across his cheeks towards his ears. He collapsed, Dwalin still rutting into him, folding over his back, big square backside bobbing frantically up and down.

‘I fuckin’ _love_ you,’ he ground out as he came, thick white froth forming around Thorin’s battered ring as his hips continued to work convulsively. He lost his rhythm, jerking and twitching to a standstill, until they lay sprawled together panting and sobbing.

Bilbo felt both awed and rather uncomfortable to have seen that. It sounded ridiculous to say that it seemed too private for him to witness, but the feeling of it ran so deep that he felt like an intruder.

‘I love you so fucking much,’ Dwalin wept, and wiped his nose on Thorin’s shoulder, and punched the bed, and buried his face in Thorin’s hair to have his cry out. 

Bilbo hesitated a little longer before drawing the covers up over them, and attempting a comforting pat on the back of Dwalin’s head. ‘Thorin?’ he piped. ‘Can you breathe all right?’

‘Mmph.’ Thorin turned his head to the side, his face crimson and streaked and smeared with tears and spunk, his hair stuck to his cheek. He looked entirely wrung out. ‘M’allright,’ he managed to say, and sniffed hard. ‘Never better. Just where I want to be.’

‘Fucking love you,’ Dwalin mumbled with a mouthful of hair.

‘And I love you. I’ll always love you. You belong to me.’ That set Thorin off again, sniffing and gulping, tears coursing down his face.

‘Now then, now then, try to calm down,’ said Bilbo, patting ineffectually. ‘It’s nothing to cry about. I’m so pleased for you. Be happy.’

‘And I’ve got your cock jammed up my arse so far I can taste it, and we can never take this back, never, never,’ Thorin murmured. ‘I’m yours.’

‘I’m undoing your hands,’ Bilbo said. ‘This is a bit excessive.’ When Thorin’s hands were free, Dwalin slid his hands up his arms to grasp them both, their fingers interlocked and knuckles white. Gradually, they seemed to be calming down, taking longer, deeper breaths, though they were still croaky and interrupted by occasional sobs. Bilbo pothered around them, dabbing at what he could reach of Thorin’s face with a damp washcloth.

‘I’m going to pull it out,’ Dwalin rumbled.

‘No! Keep it inside me. Plug me up. Stay forever.’

‘Can’t.’ Dwalin freed one hand, swept the hair off the back of Thorin’s neck and kissed the soft nape firmly before easing himself out and rolling onto his back. Thorin scrambled into his arms, clinging, and he wrapped him up tight, clamping his chin down on top of his head. ‘Well,’ he mused, glancing over at Bilbo, ‘what do we do now?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter has inspired art! HURRAH! It's by ladynorthstar, one of my very favourite dwarf-filth artists.  
> [Thorin and Dwalin and manly tears.](http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/post/46957684002/inspired-by-this-scene-from-a-substitute-for)


	15. Delightful and Satisfactory, X (no ratings pun intended)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the intensity of what happened in the previous chapter, it's worth noting that Bilbo is not very comfortable with some of what he's just seen and his questioning of Thorin may be perceived as kink-shaming. It's based on misunderstanding and concern rather than disapproval. Hopefully he will get through it. I hope it is not distressing for any of my readers.

Bilbo had no idea what to suggest, but he burrowed under the covers and attached himself to Thorin’s back like a limpet, hoping that being sandwiched between him and Dwalin would settle him down and reassure him. He lay there stroking one hairy shoulder and trying to puzzle all this out. 

‘May I ask something?’ he said after a time.

‘Go on,’ Thorin said, his voice husky. 

‘Are you quite all right?’

‘I promise you,’ Thorin said, sounding a little amused. ‘We’re a sturdy race.’

‘Will you mind if I check? Because sometimes when you’re very excited you don’t realise until later that you’ve overdone it a bit. I know I have at times.’ _Not quite to_ your _extent,_ he thought, _but the principle is the same._

‘I won’t mind.’

‘Good.’ He lifted the covers and carefully parted Thorin’s buttocks with his fingers. ‘Ooh, you _will_ be sore. You’re all puffed up. There’s a little bit of blood, but I should say it’s already stopped. May I clean you up, if I’m really gentle?’

‘Please leave it alone for now.’

‘All right. Later, then.’ He drew the covers back about their shoulders and wrapped his arms around Thorin again. ‘Just making sure. Dwalin? Next time, do be sure to oil your cock as well as his bottom. It just makes everything a bit smoother.’

‘I know,’ Dwalin murmured. He kissed Thorin’s cheek. ‘You are the sloppiest mess I’ve ever seen you.’ He took a corner of the sheet and began to blot at his face. ‘Spunk, sweat, slobber and snot. Is there anything I’ve missed? Blow.’ He held the sheet to Thorin’s nose. ‘That’s better.’ He went on wiping with a clean bit of sheet, his big hand gentle and precise, until the worst of the mess was gone.

‘You look terrible too,’ Thorin said. ‘Your eyes are all red and your nose is running.’ He tucked his head down under Dwalin’s chin again and resettled his arms around his waist. 

‘Didn’t say you looked terrible,’ Dwalin said, trailing his fingers through Thorin’s tangled hair. ‘Think it suits you.’ Thorin gave a chuff of surprised laughter against his neck. ‘What _do_ we do now?’ 

‘We get our breath back,’ Thorin said. 

‘And I put some clothes on,’ said Bilbo, ‘and go and get clean hot water, and something nice to eat and drink, that’s what.’

He managed to get downstairs and back up without having to talk to anyone, as they all seemed to have left for dinner. It was growing dark outside. He made up a tray of bread and cheese and cold meat and fruit, and wished he and Bofur hadn’t used up all the tea on their picnic. Thorin’s throat was clearly sore, though, and no wonder, so he made him a hot honeyed posset to soothe it, and drew a jug of cider for himself and Dwalin. 

He brought up the hot water and the tray in two trips, and on the second found that, contrary to Dwalin’s prediction, Thorin was sitting up in bed and having his hair brushed. That seemed a funny thing to find Dwalin doing, but then Thorin had such lovely hair, Bilbo would not have blamed anyone for wanting to play with it. They both seemed a good deal calmer, which was encouraging. He climbed up and shared the drinks around and encouraged them to eat, though he was the only one who seemed to have a good appetite. Dwalin picked at the meat and cheese, and Thorin rolled the soft parts of the bread into little balls and tossed them into Dwalin’s mouth.

‘You are _kind,_ Bilbo Baggins,’ he said, sipping the posset and watching Bilbo light the lamps in his shirt. ‘It may be your best quality.’

‘One of many, I’m sure,’ Bilbo said, smiling. ‘Do eat something. It takes a great deal out of you, having a great deal put into you.’

‘This may be the one thing in which you have vastly more experience than me,’ Thorin admitted ruefully, and ate a piece of cheese.

‘Only one? I’m sure you don’t know the first thing about putting up preserves, or making ginger-beer - would you know what a vinegar mother was, if you saw it?’

‘Very well - kitchen crafts and taking buggery, there, your areas of expertise.’

‘I’m a better burglar than you, too,’ Bilbo said, clambering back onto the bed and curling up next to him. ‘I’m sure you couldn’t burgle your way out of a wet paper bag.’

‘It’s a good deal more than a wet paper bag we want you to burgle your way _into,’_ Dwalin muttered, wrapping a slice of ham around a stick of cheese and biting it in two. 

‘Yes, well,’ said Bilbo, taking a thick slice of bread for himself. ‘We can cross _that_ bridge when we come to it.’ 

‘We can count on Bilbo,’ Thorin said, and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at him fondly. Bilbo smiled back with his cheek full of bread, feeling a little undone, as he always was, by a smile like that. 

‘What,’ said Dwalin quietly, ‘do we do now?’

‘You _can_ count on me,’ Bilbo said. ‘I won’t speak of this to anyone. Not even Bofur. It’s strictly your business as far as I am concerned. If anyone wants to know what happened this evening, why, you shared me, that’s all.’

‘Thank you,’ Thorin said. 

‘I still can’t understand why it’s so dreadful, but it’s important to you, I can see that.’

‘Because it - I make myself _less...’_ Thorin trailed off. ‘I can’t explain it. You feel it, or you don’t.’

‘Well, I’m glad not to feel it. I felt _worried_ about you, and I can’t for the life of me understand why you want to cry “no!” and “stop!” to things that you clearly enjoy, but I didn’t think you made yourself any less brave or just or wise, which is surely all that matters for a king.’

‘When I...’ Thorin paused, rolling a ball of bread between his fingers and thumb. ‘When I want... Dwalin, when I want to be fucked, it’s very difficult, because I know I ought not to want it. I want... not just to be _penetrated,_ but to be mastered and surrender, in a way that I never should. I can give in if I give at least a _show_ of resistance. Does that make any more sense?’ He looked up guiltily. ‘We agreed long ago that it was all right as long as I was _saying_ no.’

‘But you didn’t _actually,_ then, did you?’

‘No, that was only between the legs. We were afraid. We made a great many bargains with ourselves. It’s all right as long as I _say_ no. It’s all right as long as it’s only between the legs. You see?’

Bilbo shrugged. ‘I still hope everyone will see in the end that it’s a good thing for you two. Anyway, you could at least be together and just let everyone think it works the other way about, and you fuck Dwalin. _Have_ you ever fucked Dwalin?’

‘Oh, yes, plenty of times. I was one of the few who could. He takes it beautifully.’ 

‘Then it would hardly even be a lie. Go on, do! You may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb.’ He bobbed up on his knees, combing his fingers into the hair above Thorin’s ear. ‘And think, you can have that wonderful feeling whenever you need it. Dwalin holding you down, and working his great thick hard cock right up inside you, and just fucking his love into you. Only think of that!’

‘Is he what they call a foul temptress?’ Dwalin asked, jerking his thumb towards Bilbo.

‘No, I think those are the elven ladies who lure men to a watery death.’ Thorin shook his head. ‘Bilbo, you are very kind and very persuasive, but you admit yourself that you don’t understand these things. Please let it be.’

‘Oh, so I suppose you’ll go the rest of your lives and never do this again? Fat chance, especially now you know what you’ve been missing! You’ll be yearning and pining for one another within a week, if not sooner.’

Dwalin glowered, and shot a glance under his brows at Thorin, who said sharply, ‘Bilbo, _gold.’_

Bilbo pouted, then deflated, and sat down with a bump. ‘All right,’ he mumbled, ‘but I’ll still think so.’ He flopped over and pushed his head onto Thorin’s knee. ‘I do love you, you know.’

‘I know,’ Thorin said, stroking his curls and gently tweaking his ear. Dwalin made a vague grumbling sound and stuffed more bread into his mouth. ‘He means it,’ Thorin said. ‘He doesn’t mean it the same way you do, but he does mean it.’

‘Well, what do you mean by it, Mister Baggins?’ Dwalin asked. ‘Let’s be having you. What are your intentions?’

‘You needn’t ask him that,’ Thorin protested.

‘No, I - well - well, I mean that he’s very, very dear to me, very precious and I feel very tenderly towards him,’ Bilbo said. ‘I want to take care of him and keep him happy, and help him to win a home for all of you. And...’ He paused and shaped words around an idea that he hadn’t let himself directly consider before. ‘And I think about us being together always.’

‘Right,’ said Dwalin, sounding unimpressed. ‘Think the same about Bofur?’

‘Yes,’ said Bilbo in a small voice. ‘I - I won’t ever try to take Thorin away from you, you know.’ He wanted very badly to snap back that Thorin loved him too, but he was afraid that would bring on more tears, or worse, roaring anger. There had already been quite enough turmoil that evening. ‘Do you know, I think it might be best if I leave you be for a while? You understand each other, and you can talk things over without me getting things wrong or being in the way.’

‘You needn’t go,’ Thorin said.

‘I think I will,’ Bilbo said, sitting up. ‘I’ll have a quiet, comfortable evening by myself - it’s been ages since I’ve had a chance to do that. I shall have a bath. And you two will have a quiet, comfortable evening together, and not worry about anything else until the morning.’ He wriggled back into his trousers and kissed Thorin on the cheek. ‘And thank you, Dwalin, for sharing him with me.’ He leant over and dabbed a kiss on Dwalin’s eyebrow. 

‘Good night,’ Thorin said, passing a hand down Bilbo’s back. 

‘Night.’ He slipped down from the bed and out of the room, feeling rather relieved to have extricated himself, and hoping very much that they would know what to say to each other. He puffed his cheeks, blowing out a breath, and shook his head. 

The bath was a delight, warm and steamy and so deep that he could swim in it, if he had felt like anything but soaking. He paddled his feet and let the heat seep into his bones and soothe the soreness that always followed a coupling with Dwalin. The house was very, very quiet with everyone out. If Thorin and Dwalin were up to anything upstairs, he couldn’t hear it in here. There was just the lapping of the bathwater, the crackle of the firebox underneath, the greater lapping of the lake outside, and a faint sound of wind under the eaves. The people who hung about the house singing had gone, presumably following the dwarves to the banquet. He floated and thought about being together always, and how it might be, so far from home. Could there be anywhere under the mountain that would feel homey? Cosy? Bofur, he thought, would make things cosier. 

Might they live together, in one house? Or one room in a palace, or whatever the arrangements would be? He still had trouble imagining what Erebor was like inside. Before Rivendell, the biggest house he had ever seen was Brandy Hall. It was sure to be a great deal bigger and grander than that. Surely even Bofur would have a lovely place to live, once they were settled... if they ever were settled, and if the dragon could be dealt with. That came before every other possibility, looming up to darken the path ahead. 

He tried to leapfrog over it. Or would he, perhaps, live with Thorin? Would he have a little place of his own and visit each of them by turns?

Would he miss home too much to be happy, regardless?

He held his nose and sank under the water, blowing bubbles. 

After the bath, he put on a clean nightshirt and had a supper of toast and honey and hot milk, before cleaning his teeth and putting himself to bed, in Bofur’s bed, to wait for him. The pillow smelled like his hair and his strong tobacco, and it was very comforting. He fell asleep with the lamp lit, nodding over a little book of legends of Dale. 

He was woken up by the others coming home, the bedroom door banged open by Kili, who let out a blast of song and startled him out of a very unpleasant dream of dragons in the dark. 

‘And when the ball was over,

The opinion was expressed:

The music was exquisite but

The screwin' was the best!’

‘What?’ Bilbo said blearily.

‘“The Ball of Erebor”,’ Kili exclaimed, trampolining onto his bed with a crash, ‘a very excellent old folk song to which I have just been introduced tonight.’ He added, with a conspiratorial giggle, ‘Oin and Gloin got drunk!’

From down in the front hall came an exuberant cackling.

‘Good grief,’ mumbled Bilbo, and pulled his pillow over his head.

Fili popped his head in at the door. ‘Will you come and help me _deal_ with them?’ he hissed. 

‘You’re the head man tonight,’ Kili replied, grinning.

‘Just come and help me! They’re doing re-enactments!’

Down below, there was a thud, a whoop, and the sound of a very cross Balin crying ‘You silly sots aren’t even _from_ Erebor!’

‘Dori must be thrilled to death,’ Bilbo said from under his pillow. 

‘In raptures,’ he heard Bofur say, and then he felt him sit down on the bed. ‘Have I got a bedwarmer tonight?’ He lifted the side of the pillow and peered under.

‘Yes. I’m safer than a warming-pan; I don’t singe the sheets. And you can’t stub your toe on me like a stone bottle.’ Bilbo wriggled out and knelt up to catch hold of Bofur’s plaits and kiss him on the moustache.

‘I thought you were hob-nobbing with the big nobs tonight.’ Bofur rubbed his nose against Bilbo’s; he smelled like wine and highly spiced meat.

‘One very big knob, but they’re spending the night together and I was hoping to see you.’

‘Lucky me,’ Bofur said fondly. ‘We might not get to sleep for a while with those daft old bats whooping it up downstairs.’

‘The Ball of Erebor!’ someone downstairs shouted, ‘One! More! Time!’ and a chorus of voices took up the song. 

‘Ohhhhh, the ball,

The ball o' Erebor,

Where folk o' high and low degree

Were screwin' on the floor.’

Gloin’s voice roared out, his accent drunkenly broad, ‘Singin' "Wha'll dae ye, lassie,

Wha'll dae ye noo?

The mon wha did ye last nicht

Cannae dae ye noo."’

‘Screwing and singing at the same time?’ Bilbo asked. ‘I wouldn’t have the breath.’

Oin ripped into it next, as loud and flat as only a half-deaf dwarf could be. ‘There was screwin’ in the corridor,

An’ screwin’ on the stairs,

Ye could nae see the carpet

For the come and curly hairs!’

Both of them began another chorus before the door to Thorin’s room crashed open and heavy footsteps stalked out. From the head of the stairs, Dwalin bawled out ‘Shut the fuck up and go the fuck to bed or I’ll tear your head off and beat your brother to death with it!’

There was a short interval of absolute quiet before Oin was heard to ask ‘Which of us does he mean?’

‘Shut it!’ Dwalin bellowed, and stamped back to bed, slamming the door behind him.

Much chastened, everyone went to bed in an orderly fashion, although Kili was still humming the tune and kept whispering to Fili about ideas for new verses.

‘And did you know this scandalous song before those two old rips started singing it?’ Bilbo asked Bofur as they curled up together in the dark.

‘Oh, yes, but the version I know’s a wee bit different - our chorus goes “Balls to your partner, arse against the wall, if you can’t get fucked on a Saturday night you can’t get fucked at all”.’

‘That’s terrible. Hobbit songs are clean and wholesome. And usually about food and drink.’ 

‘Oh, it’s terrible all right,’ Bofur said, grinning and tickling Bilbo’s ear with his whiskers. ‘I can see how mortified you are.’ He sang in a whisper, and a fair approximation of Oin and Gloin’s accent, ‘There was screwin' in the parlor,

An' screwin' on the stones.

Ye could nae hear the music

For the wheezin' and the groans.

D’you think we might have a ball once we get all settled in and clear out the dragon muck?’

‘A ball?’ Bilbo whispered back. ‘Is that what we’ll call it?’

‘Well, it’ll be a good deal grander there. We’ll look back to the days when we fucked on straw mattresses and dogs brought us biscuits and laugh. Like this. Ahahahaha!’ He squeezed Bilbo about the waist for a moment, then relaxed. ‘And we’ll have a great big soft bed, you and me, with a feather mattress... how d’you feel about dogs, though? Maybe a little dog? I like little hairy dogs that look like rugs when they lie down.’

‘A little dog would be all right. Have you been thinking about that?’

‘Dogs?’

‘Living together.’

‘I’ll say. I mean, there’s Thorin too, and I understand if you want to live with him part of the time - but you’ll stay at mine some nights too, right? And I’ll get to wake up with you, and your rosy face on the pillow?’ He kissed Bilbo’s ear. ‘Your pretty curly hair and your little soft tum and your milky white bum.’

‘All on the pillow at once?’ Bilbo asked. Bofur’s fingers dug into his waist, tickling, and he squirmed and yelped.

‘Can you shut up over there, young lovers?’ Nori asked from across the room. ‘Some of us want to go to sleep.’

‘Some of us don’t,’ mumbled Kili. Fili shushed him, and the two of them grew quiet together apart from the occasional soft murmur. 

‘Mmrrmm. Love you,’ Bofur whispered. He lay on his back, Bilbo nestled into the crook of his arm, one leg tucked between his.

‘Love you,’ Bilbo whispered back. ‘Good night.’ He slipped his hand into the front of Bofur’s nightshirt to rest on his skin, warm and well-furred, and composed himself to sleep. It was difficult, though, with so much to think about. He still wondered about Thorin and Dwalin, down the hall. What had they talked about? Particularly, had they talked about him? Perhaps rather than talking they had just spent the night making up for lost time. He would like to think that once they had got all that hair-pulling and violence out of their systems, they might be able to, well, make love, if that wasn’t a silly expression for those two. He imagined Dwalin’s big hands with their tattooed knuckles moving gently over Thorin’s skin, raising goosebumps and smoothing them down, and the two of them tracing and kissing each other’s scars. Surely that would do them good. 

He could feel a little scar of Bofur’s under his hand, a recent one from a spider’s sting, puckered and rough. New scars. He had a few of his own, small ones from skinned knees and elbows, but those were nothing to speak of. What sort of condition might they all be in before the quest was over? Well, if you were a little pile of greasy ash, scars were nothing.

‘Wh’s wrong?’ Bofur murmured drowsily. ‘You cold? Shivery.’

‘I’m warm, but worried.’

‘Dragon?’

‘Mm.’ He snuggled deeper into the warmth of Bofur’s underarm, and curled his fingers in the hair of his chest.

‘You are the best and finest and bravest burglar that ever there was,’ Bofur whispered against the top of his head. ‘You’re a _magic_ burglar, don’t forget that. If anyone can do it, you can.’

‘I wish there was some _precedent,’_ Bilbo whispered back. ‘Most of all I wish I were back at home in my own bed. With you, of course. You’d like living in the Shire, I feel sure. You’d do very well as a toymaker there, too. The children would love you. You’d horrify the Sackville-Bagginses. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have to live with me.’ 

A lovely clear picture came up in his mind of Bofur sitting across from him by the fireplace of an evening, his boots up on the fender, smoking his pipe and smiling over at him. There could be a little hairy dog on the hearth-rug, like himself as a child lying on his tummy to draw pictures while his parents sat warming their feet, his mother reading aloud and his father knitting or sewing. Perhaps he would be the one reading; perhaps Bofur would be carving some little toy, or instead of his pipe, he would have his flute to his lips, playing a tune. They could hang out a little painted sign on the front gate to let people know about the toys, and walk down to the Green Dragon for a drink with their neighbours in the evening, and come home warm and tipsy and fuck until they fell asleep in a knot. Wouldn’t he be perfectly happy with that?

No. He would miss Thorin and the others dreadfully, and Bofur would particularly pine for his brother and cousin. However much love was between them, they could not be everything to each other.

‘Would I be an adopted Baggins, then?’ Bofur asked softly. ‘Bofur Baggins sounds rather fine, don’t you think?’

‘And we’d share a monogram. Convenient. My father used to mark our clothes with two big Bs for himself, a big and a little one for my mother, and two little bs for me.’ 

That got him kissed. ‘Your family is the dearest little thing I ever heard of.’

‘I like yours too. Nothing seems quite so frightening when you hug me and talk to me. Would you like to be my co-burglar?’

‘Don’t think we can get both our fingers in your ring together. Stop your sniggering, you dirty little tinker. Anyway, you’ll rob that dragon blind.’ Another firm, whiskery kiss. ‘Sleep tight, pet.’

‘Night night, treasure.’

 

They woke to another clear, fine autumn day, and Bilbo, Dori and Bombur made the breakfast. The other two taught him a cooking song as they worked, Dori singing the words in a surprisingly high, sweet voice and Bombur providing a deep descant of ‘bom, bom, bom’s.

Thorin and Dwalin came down to breakfast, looking rather the worse for wear, heavy-eyed and wan, but Thorin sat down at the table without flinching and did justice to the grilled ham and scrambled eggs. Dwalin was watchful of him, almost his shadow, at one point managing to pass him the pepper before he could ask for it. Bilbo felt he ought to be taking care of him too, in some way, but perhaps that would be intruding, and besides, Bofur kept rubbing his knee under the table and giving him flirty looks.

He would have been very happy to pursue those looks, but Ori caught him while he was washing up and asked him to sit again for his portrait, since he wasn’t quite happy with the likeness from last time and hoped he could do a better job by morning light.

‘All right,’ said Bilbo obligingly. It was hard to say no to Ori and his big hopeful eyes. He sat in the full light of the front parlour window and tried to look suitable for posterity. Dori kept popping in and out to beam proudly over Ori’s shoulder. 

‘Dori,’ Ori said after a while, ‘it’s awfully hard to concentrate with you doing that. Perhaps I can finish it later.’ He put down his pencil.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dori said, ‘but it’s such a pleasure to see - you’re turning out so well, Bilbo.’

‘Oh, I’ve just remembered!’ Ori said. He pulled a smaller piece of paper out of the back of the sketchbook and passed it over to Bilbo. ‘How would you like that, for your mark that’s not really a mark?’

‘Ooh, can I see?’ asked Dori, bustling over. ‘Oh, that’s elegant. Quite elegant. What’s that style called?’

‘Uncial,’ Ori said, with a shy little smile of pride. ‘I got it out of a book.’

‘I think it’s wonderful,’ Bilbo said, ‘and I shall ask Oin today if he’ll do it.’

‘Do what?’ asked Bofur, wandering in eating a pear. He leaned over Ori’s shoulder to inspect the work in progress.

‘The first hobbit mark,’ Bilbo said, holding up the piece of paper. ‘How does it look to you?’

‘Oh, I like that! Where’ll you put it?’

‘I haven’t really thought about it yet,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘Are there traditional places? Does the position mean anything in particular?’

‘There are meanings for our people,’ Dori said, ‘but they wouldn’t signify for you. I shouldn’t worry. Just have it wherever you think it would look nicest.’

‘You know where I think you should put it?’ Bofur asked. ‘Middle of the lower back.’ Dori made a faintly vexed huffing noise through his nose, glanced at Ori and said nothing. 

‘Here?’ Bilbo asked, pressing his hand there. ‘Above my bum?’

‘Yes, it’s nice and symmetrical.’

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘I mean the tattoo, but that too,’ Bofur said, smiling and squeezing his shoulder. Dori rolled his eyes and huffed more forcefully, and Bilbo felt a little bit, but only a very little bit, guilty for flirting in front of him.

‘Well, let’s go and find Oin, and see if we can get him to understand what I want,’ Bilbo said. ‘Come on, Bofur.’ Once they were safely in the hallway, he gave Bofur a nudge in the side. ‘All right, what were you up to in there? What does a tattoo in the small of your back mean?’

‘Oh, it just means you’re a bit of a goer. D’you want a bite?’ Bofur offered him the other side of his pear.

‘Thanks.’ Bilbo bit in, and discovered that the pear was very sweet, but also excessively, overflowingly juicy. It was warm from Bofur’s hand, and the feeling of the juice trickling over his chin and down his neck made him blush. He looked up from the pear, met Bofur’s eyes and went warmer still.

‘That,’ said Nori, swaggering down the staircase, ‘is obscene.’ He said it in a strongly approving tone.

‘Mmph,’ said Bilbo, succeeding in biting off his mouthful of pear and blotting his chin on his sleeve.

‘I know,’ said Bofur fondly. ‘Isn’t he great?’ He smacked a juicy kiss onto Bilbo’s cheek. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes at him, chewed quickly, and swallowed. ‘Nori,’ he said, a bit thickly, ‘you’re disreputable.’

‘Thanks!’

‘What does a tattoo mark in the middle of the lower back mean?’

Nori’s eyebrows sprang up and he grinned. ‘Oh, well, it’s not so much that it _means_ something as that it draws the eyes down. Says hallo there, have a look at this.’

‘Well worth a look,’ Bofur said loyally. ‘Like two sweet, soft, floury dumplings.’

‘Oh, pff,’ said Bilbo, very pleased.

‘Want another bite?’ Bofur offered. This time he held the pear higher so Bilbo had to rise on his toes to bite it, and Nori, in a casual, sidling way, moved around to screen them from view.

‘Would you lads like to see something I’ve got upstairs?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Bofur. ‘You, Bilbo?’

‘Certainly,’ Bilbo said. ‘What is it?’

‘You come and see. No tricks, mind. If you’re not interested, that’s fine and I’ll let you go.’ He led them back upstairs, Bilbo and Bofur walking hand in hand. ‘Now, what do you see?’ he asked. 

‘It’s a cupboard, isn’t it?’ Bilbo asked. There was a smallish door in the wall, plainer than the doors to the bedrooms, which had handsomely carved lintels and panelling. 

‘Aha,’ said Nori, holding up one finger. He opened the door and waved them through. Inside was a small, windowless room, lit by a sliver of a skylight, with a low single bed against the wall, a tiny iron stove with a pipe that went out through the ceiling, and a little sink with a bucket of water beside it. ‘I think it’s a servant’s room, so they could be ready if any of the quality wanted something in the night. But for us, it could be a palace of debauchery.’ He waggled his eyebrows salaciously.

‘Oh really?’ Bilbo asked, bending over to inspect the little stove.

‘Is he doing that on purpose?’ Nori asked Bofur. ‘Presenting?’

‘I like to assume he is,’ Bofur said fondly, patting Bilbo on the bottom.

‘You two,’ said Bilbo, reprovingly but without any real rancour.

‘I, ah, I thought it’d be nice to have a private place,’ said Nori. ‘Do as we like without bothering anybody else. There was something I wanted to... propose. I wondered if the two of you would like to join me.’

‘I’m game,’ said Bofur. ‘What about you, pet?’

‘Well, no, don’t say yes until I’ve explained properly. Have a seat.’ He shut the door and gestured for them to sit on the bed, which they did, Bofur’s feet just touching the floor and Bilbo’s dangling above it. ‘Have a drink,’ he suggested, pulling a bottle out from under the bed. His preparations had not extended to glasses, so they took turns to sip the sweetish green-gold wine from the neck of the bottle.

‘Right. I want to explain myself properly because, you know, not everybody likes what I like, and that’s all right, and it’s best to know where we stand so there’s no hurt feelings.’ Nori wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. ‘I get nervous doing this, daft I know.’

‘We’re all friends here,’ Bilbo said. ‘Just tell us what you want to say.’ Beside him, Bofur lay back on his elbows. 

‘Well, you remember the last time I fucked you.’ 

‘Yes, thank you very much.’

‘And a job well done, if I may say so,’ added Bofur. ‘His face was a picture.’

‘Good,’ said Nori, smiling in apparent relief. ‘No regrets, then?’

‘None,’ Bilbo said, smiling back, ‘so you may set your mind at rest.’ He reached out and hooked his hand into Nori’s belt. ‘Come and sit beside me, instead of bobbing and hovering there.’

‘You little pearler,’ said Nori. He bent, slid his fingers into Bilbo’s hair, and pressed a long, deep kiss into his mouth, tongue prying his lips apart and roving about inside. ‘Right.’ He sat down beside Bilbo, putting one big hand on his knee. ‘Because I _loved_ that. And it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. What I want, what I really want, if it’s all right with you, is more of that. But I don’t want to frighten you off, because I don’t think you’re used to rough play.’

‘Is there any reason to be frightened?’ Bilbo asked, carefully.

‘Well, it’ll hurt,’ Nori said frankly. ‘That’s the point. I want to hurt you. I see your beautiful smooth creamy skin and your soft fat arse and your plump squashy thighs and I want to flog you. See your arse jiggle and bounce when I hit you, and see the stripes come up red on your skin, see them swell and know they’re burning and stinging and throbbing...’ He trailed off, blushing.

‘Is that everything?’ Bilbo asked. His own face felt burning hot, and he could feel that Bofur had unobtrusively put his hand to his back, stroking reassuringly through his shirt and waistcoat.

‘If I could tie you up too, well. That’d be the icing on the cake.’ He gave Bilbo’s knee a little squeeze.

‘So...’ Bilbo said, frowning and shifting in his seat on the mattress. His bottom was feeling hot too, remembering those stinging slaps that had been so exhilarating. ‘The point is to hurt me, is that right? To give me some painful feelings?’

‘Not only painful ones,’ Nori said hastily. ‘I want to get you off, too.’

‘But not to _hurt_ me, I mean not to _injure_ me in any serious way?’

‘Nothing that wouldn’t heal. There’s people who do want to go that far, people who want it done to ‘em too, but I don’t want to do that to you now. In a funny way I want to protect you, d’you see? Hurt you and then make you feel better. Take you into danger but then bring you back safe. Does that make sense to you?’

‘Sort of,’ Bilbo said. It was shedding a different light on how Thorin and Dwalin had behaved last night. ‘Do you like doing that because it makes you feel powerful?’

‘That’s part of it. And just... pain’s exciting. Someone I fancy, _inviting_ me to hurt them.’

‘Cos they trust you,’ Bofur added, his hand still circling on Bilbo’s back. ‘They’ve got to trust you.’

‘Right, and I’ve got to trust them. I’ve got to know - if we did this, right, if I was bashing away and you were hating it and it was just upsetting you, you’d say so, so I could stop. Would you be brave enough to tell me to stop? Because I’m not an arsehole, but I can’t read your mind, and if you’re too scared to say anything then it spoils everything.’

‘We could have a special word,’ Bilbo suggested, ‘so you would know to stop at once if I said that.’

‘Hang on, have you done this before?’ Nori asked. ‘It’s not fair to trick me and make me explain everything if you already know.’

‘Well, no, I haven’t _done_ it. I’ve watched. Thorin and Dwalin showed me.’

‘Did they, now! I bet it’s something to see a bruiser like Dwalin knuckle under.’

‘It was pretty surprising,’ Bilbo said with perfect truth. ‘But Thorin says he takes it beautifully.’

‘What did they do?’ Nori asked, leaning in eagerly. 

‘Er, tied hands, and - well, it doesn’t seem right to tell you the details, it was private. But the point is, they had an agreement to say “silver” for “slow down” or “not so hard,” and “gold” for “stop that at once”.’

‘That’s good, that’s very good. So you get the idea, don’t you? We agree - just while we’re playing - that words like “no” and “that hurts” don’t mean what they usually mean.’

‘Nor do “gold” and “silver”.’

‘We could use those, or you could come up with your own words. It’s best if you have your own words, because you’ll be more likely to remember them when you’re really worked up. And they need to be things you wouldn’t usually say while fucking, just so there’s no confusion.’

‘What if I said “home”?’ Bilbo suggested. 

‘That’d be a good one. For “stop”? D’you want a “slow down” word too?’

‘I _think,’_ Bilbo said carefully, ‘that to start with I would just like to have a stop word. I might ask you to stop, but then if I felt better, say that you could start again. Would that be all right?’

‘That’d be fine. So you really like the idea?’ Nori moved his hand, rubbing in circles above Bilbo’s knee.

‘I, um, I...’ Bilbo nibbled at his lip. ‘I don’t know how I’ll like it, but I do want to try it. Would that be all right?’

‘Course it would. How are you going to know if you don’t try? What do you think, Bofur?’

‘I think,’ Bofur said, ‘I’d love to see you giving Bilbo a going-over. If he’s happy, I’m happy. And Bilbo, I’d love to take care of you while he does it. How’d that be?’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful! I’d be fine then. I do trust _you,_ Nori, but Bofur’s so encouraging. Shall we start now?’ He bounced onto his knees.

Nori gave a startled little laugh. ‘You’re keen!’

‘He always is,’ said Bofur. 

‘Oh - but just this condition. I don’t know whether I’ll feel up to you fucking me. I had Dwalin last night and he’s huge, so I’m still a bit delicate. On the other hand, who knows how I’ll feel? And I do love your cock.’ He wrapped his arms around Nori’s shoulders and kissed him heartily. ‘What shall we do first?’

‘First? Well, now, first. First, get all your clothes off.’ Nori gave him a light swat on the bottom for encouragement. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Right.’ Bilbo began popping open his waistcoat buttons.

‘Where do you stand,’ Bofur asked, sitting up, ‘on giving orders and having him call you Sir or Master or something?’

‘I think that might be a bit advanced for now,’ Nori said. ‘We’ll work up to it, if he likes this.’ He reached under the bed again and brought out a coil of thin rope.

‘You _have_ been thorough,’ Bilbo said, unbuttoning his top shirt buttons and hauling it off over his head, ruffling his hair and making it stand up at the back.

‘Strong, but not too scratchy,’ Nori said, offering him a loop of the rope to feel. ‘Just enough roughness to ginger you up, I think.’

‘Is that just to bind my hands?’

‘It can be, but there’s lots of other ways to tie you. Some of them are designed to hurt, others just to hold you. My favourites are for looks, too. I can make patterns with the knots, and they put you on display for me, and they leave marks for you to remember me by.’ Nori ran one hand from Bilbo’s shoulder down his bare arm. ‘What I want today is to tie your arms behind your back, and make a pattern round your neck and your chest to squeeze your tits. How would you like that?’ He slid his hand back up Bilbo’s arm and down his chest, taking his nipple between the side of his forefinger and thumb and giving it a light rub.

‘My tits seem to be getting a great deal of attention lately.’

‘Good tits do.’ Nori pinched a little harder, half-smiling.

‘Oh, so you _are_ calling them tits now?’ Bofur asked. He was sitting back, leaning on one arm, entirely relaxed.

‘Well, what else _can_ I call them? Though I never called them anything in my life before you lot started playing with them.’

‘That’s just a shame,’ said Nori. ‘Tits like these should be played with every day. Kissed, licked, sucked, bitten, squeezed, rubbed, flicked, pinched, slapped - you name it. I _wish_ I’d thought to bring my bag of tricks, but I didn’t think I’d need it on a trip like this.’

‘What kind of tricks?’ Bilbo asked, a bit breathlessly. 

‘Never you mind. What I want to do today is... yes, pinching, and slapping, and spanking. And if you like that, perhaps I’ll take my belt off to you.’ He slid his hand back up and around to grasp the back of Bilbo’s neck and gave him one of his rough, probing kisses, his nose grinding against Bilbo’s cheek. ‘You just go limp like a kitten, don’t you?’

‘Mmmhhh...’

‘Still time to change your mind. Or I can get started with the rope. What do you say?’

Bilbo took a deep breath, feeling Bofur’s hand once again circling on his bare back. ‘The rope, please.’

‘Keks off first.’

‘Oh! Right. Yes.’ He quickly wriggled out of his trousers and drawers, kicking them onto the floor. Bofur and Nori were still fully clothed, and he wondered when they might undress, but decided it probably wasn’t his part to ask. 

‘Good boy. Turn round, face Bofur, back to me. I’m going to get your arms set. This shouldn’t hurt. It’s just going to be nice and firm.’ Facing Bofur, who gave him an encouraging smile and placed his hands on his waist to steady him, Bilbo felt Nori draw his arms behind his back and guide them into place, elbows bent to right angles, forearms laid together, each hand’s fingertips reaching the elbow of the other arm. That was reassuringly easy, and fairly comfortable. The rope felt warm and ticklish, wrapping around snugly. Nori pulled the knots tight in a brisk, efficient manner. ‘I’ll check on your hands from time to time,’ he said, ‘but if they feel strange - cold, or numb, or if you get pins and needles - you’re to tell me straight away. You might not want to stop things if you’re excited, but that _is_ an order. Burglars need all their fingers in working order.’

‘Right,’ Bilbo said, nodding.

‘That’s your arms all set,’ said Nori. ‘Good lad. Now we’re going to make you a smart little rope waistcoat.’ He made a sort of halter that passed around Bilbo’s neck, a sturdy knot that pressed into the centre of his breast, and straps that crossed over, under and between his tits. It was all connected, so that he felt rather as if he had been put head-first into a string grocery-bag. The fit was very snug, so that he felt the rope rubbing every time he breathed, and his soft flesh bulged slightly on either side of each strand. ‘I think I remember you saying once we all came with handles. Now you’ve got handles.’ He gripped the knot between Bilbo’s shoulderblades and tugged. ‘What do you think, Bofur? How does he look?’

‘Oh, it suits him!’ Bofur said, eyeing Bilbo up and down eagerly. ‘Brings out his eyes.’

Nori chuckled, and used the handle-knot to turn Bilbo about to face him. ‘Now, you trust me, don’t you, Bilbo? We’re friends.’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo said readily. 

‘And you’ve got your Bofur behind you, and he’ll keep you steady, and keep you safe. He might also finger your arse, but that’s between the two of you. What I want from you now is an invitation.’ He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

‘Right,’ said Bilbo, with a slightly nervous smile that flickered out. ‘Um. I, I’d like you to hurt me.’

‘Good lad,’ Nori breathed. He laid his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, warm and heavy, and ran them down to his chest, where he gripped his tits tightly, fingers denting the flesh. Bilbo nipped his lips together between his teeth as the pressure grew. ‘You can do that if you want to bite through ‘em,’ Nori warned him. The pressure grew crushing, and Bilbo’s lips parted in a gasp before Nori let go. A flush of relief bloomed in his chest, and Nori shifted his hands a little, fingers digging into untouched spots as he squeezed again.

‘Ow!’ he exclaimed.

‘That’s right. My oath, they’re soft.’ Nori’s nails were not long, but they were hard, and they left little crescent bites in Bilbo’s milky skin.

 _‘Ow!’_ He drew in his breath sharply, his chest expanded and he felt the grip of the rope. Nori released him, and the blooming feeling came back. ‘Ooh...’

‘I think he likes that,’ said Bofur.

‘I can’t think _why,’_ Bilbo said, almost indignant at his own body behaving this way.

‘Don’t bother about why now.’ Nori turned his hands again and squeezed again, a slow, steadily building pressure, deceptive, starting out as simply a hardness that suddenly became definite pain. He held it for longer this time, and Bilbo was trembling a little when he let go, letting out a breath he had been holding in a rush and panting. The rope rubbed his skin rhythmically, the tickle growing rougher. ‘And don’t hold your breath. You can pant and moan as much as you want, but keep breathing; we don’t want you fainting again.’

‘You faint _once_ and people mark you down as a fainter,’ Bilbo grumbled, taking refuge in grumpiness. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘It was a pretty dramatic faint, pet,’ said Bofur. His hands were back at Bilbo’s waist, gently rubbing his hips.

‘Just you keep breathing,’ Nori said, his eyes shining. He gripped Bilbo’s nipples again, with thumbs and the sides of his forefingers, and pinched down, steadily increasing the pressure until Bilbo was whimpering, his breath coming in short hitches. The relief when they were released was huge, a tingling rush. Nori pinched him again before it had quite faded, and this time he twisted, a slow, controlled screwing of Bilbo’s tender flesh, turning outwards towards his arms.

‘Ow ow _ow!’_ Bilbo’s eyes watered; hot sweat broke out in dots on his back, the sides of his nose and his upper lip. But there was that bloom again, the reward for enduring, and he was getting an erection. ‘Oof...’ He puffed his cheeks out and blew, shuffling his knees on the bed.

‘That’s a brave lad,’ Nori said. ‘Want a slap?’

‘All right. I mean - yes please.’

‘You have such nice manners.’ Nori gave him a half-turn, side on to him. He held the knot between Bilbo’s shoulderblades with his left hand, tugging it slightly to force Bilbo’s chest out and increase the pressure around his tits, blotchy and puffy now with red finger-marks. ‘There, now.’ With his right, he gave him a brisk slap on one tit. A stinging, tingling warmth filled the place it had hit, and Bilbo flinched and gasped. He slapped the other while it was still blooming. ‘You don’t _have_ to be brave,’ Nori said, grinning. ‘Feel free to fuss.’

‘Believe me, I will! Ouch!’ Bilbo grimaced as Nori slapped him again and again.

‘Look how _pink_ your tits are getting.’ He tried slapping upward from below, making them bounce. ‘Do they hurt?’

 _‘Bother_ you! Yes!’ The rope was hurting him too, sawing at his skin as he panted.

‘Right.’ Nori twisted Bilbo to face him again, and gripped both his nipples, crushing them and making him wail.

‘Stop it! Stop stop stop!’ He felt a moment’s panic, because Nori was ignoring him and Bofur was doing nothing about it, before he remembered and yelped out ‘Home!’

Nori let go instantly, and Bilbo sagged forward, putting his forehead on his shoulder. 

‘There, now,’ Nori said. He smoothed his hands up and down Bilbo’s upper arms. ‘Shhh. Shhhh.’ There were Bofur’s hands on his back, too, warm and steady and soothing. His nipples were terribly sore, an outraged pulse pounding in each, but his cock had only grown harder. ‘You’re safe and sound,’ Nori said, his voice low and gravelly. ‘Well done. You told me when it was too much for you.’

Bilbo sniffed. He was not exactly crying, but his eyes had been watering fiercely and his nose had begun to run in sympathy. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.

‘Want me to untie you now?’ Bofur asked. ‘I can cut the rope if you want to get straight out of it, I’ve got my knife.’

‘No... no. Thank you, it’s all right.’ He lifted his head and straightened up. ‘I feel better now. I only wanted a little breather. We can go on now.’

‘Still enjoying yourself?’ Nori asked.

‘Surprisingly much,’ Bilbo admitted.

‘This tells the whole story, doesn’t it?’ Nori said, smiling. He reached out and took the head of Bilbo’s prick between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a little waggle.

‘Oh, but please don’t pinch there!’

‘Not until you ask me to. You look so lovely with your face all red and tear-stained.’ Nori wiped Bilbo’s nose for him, with his sleeve. ‘Nothing prettier.’

‘I don’t really think I’m _pretty._ Fili is pretty, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, he’s pretty all right, but let’s not get into what I want to do to _him.’_  

‘Would you make him cry?’

‘I’d make his nose bleed. Shush now, we’re concentrating on you.’ Nori began to rub Bilbo’s chest, in what would have been a pleasant massage if he hadn’t made it so tender. It made him wince, and he bit his lip again before willing himself to let his mouth hang slightly open. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? Little fat tits feeling happy?’

‘I can tolerate pain but I draw the line at sarcasm.’

‘But you’re not just tolerating it. That’s what I really like. You’re enjoying some of it. Your tits are red now but they’re going to be black and blue tomorrow.’ He dug his thumbs into their soft centres and ground them around. ‘I’m going to start on your arse now. Turn round and bend over.’

With Bofur helping him to balance, Bilbo shuffled around on his knees and bent at the waist. Bofur held his shoulders as he sank down, face down into his lap. ‘There you are, pet,’ he murmured.

‘Now how are _you_ feeling, Bofur?’ Nori asked. ‘D’you share my appreciation of a trussed, mussed, flustered hobbit?’

‘Yes,’ said Bilbo, somewhat muffled, before Bofur could answer. His nose and lips rested against the solid bulge of Bofur’s erection, warm through his trousers and shifting as he brushed it.

Bofur chuckled softly. ‘That’s about the size of it,’ he said.

‘Want him to suck your cock?’ Nori offered.

‘Not if you’re going to spank him. I sometimes like it nibbled; I don’t want it bitten off.’

‘What about when I fuck him?’

‘Oh, if he’s agreeable I’m agreeable.’ Bofur rubbed Bilbo’s curly head, rumpling his hair as he nuzzled, rubbing his cheek against the bulge like a cat. ‘We’re agreeable people.’

‘Good. Arse up, Bilbo. Arch your back and push it out. Pretend you’re showing the world.’ Nori clapped a spread hand onto his right buttock and gave it a shake. 

‘Mmph...’

‘Let’s see your hands. They feel fine to me. How about you?’

‘Fine, fine...’ 

‘And don’t get distracted just because you’ve got a cock in front of your nose,’ Nori said affectionately. ‘Piglet.’

‘Here, pet, put your head on my leg,’ Bofur said, guiding it to rest on his thigh.

‘Right,’ said Nori, kneeling alongside him. ‘Your tits were a warm-up, Bilbo. I want to spend longer on your arse. There’s so much more of it.’ He began with a few light swats that produced a very agreeable warmth and tingling, rubbing away each one, before his hand grew heavier and fell with a loud clap that made Bilbo gasp, his buttocks jouncing. Bofur kept a hand on his head, and one of Nori’s was on the knot over his back, keeping him steady, but each stroke shook him a bit. Nori worked very methodically, giving equal attention to both sides, until the skin burned and fresh tears slid down the sides of Bilbo’s nose. His breathing grew ragged and he whimpered against Bofur’s thigh. Nori slowed his stroke for a few moments and Bilbo thought he might be getting tired, the fierce sting diminishing, until he felt a fresh onslaught of hard, fast blows with a cupped hand that resounded in the little room and made him wail. It was growing very hot in there, and although he was naked and the others were still dressed he thought he was probably the sweatiest of them, his hair clinging to his temples and the soft fold between his tummy and his thighs growing slick.

Nori’s slapping gradually moved from the upper curve down to the crease between buttock and thigh, and Bilbo burrowed his head into Bofur’s belly, trembling. It hurt and burned and stung, and his ears were singing and his head buzzing and his whole body full of overwhelming feverish heat. When would it _stop?_ Was there some point at which a spanking counted as complete? He had never been battered like this in his life, and a part of him was utterly astonished that he was letting it happen, while the rest of him writhed under it and forgot how to think.

A particularly hard smack hit him square in the middle, and no more came. He was bewildered. His bottom still stung and tingled, but no more slaps were falling. Nori was rubbing over it in light circles, and he could hear him breathing hard. 

‘I think that’s perfect,’ Nori said. ‘I’ll show you, Bilbo.’ Yet again he hung over the side of the bed and delved under it, this time bringing out a large framed mirror.

‘Have you just ransacked the house and hidden everything under this bed?’ Bofur asked, amused. ‘Are its legs still on the ground?’

‘Help him up a bit,’ Nori said. He held the mirror propped against himself. ‘Look back over your shoulder, Bilbo.’ Bilbo looked, and winced. His bottom was crimson, and blotchy, and shocking. He hadn’t been hit on his thighs, but a sort of sympathy-rash of pink mottling had broken out on them. He could see his arms still trussed against his back, and equally pink stripes where the ropes shifted as he moved. His face was only less red than his bottom, his eyelids and lips swollen and shiny. He hardly recognised himself; he was not a Baggins at all and hardly even a Took. 

And with all this, his cock was as hard as it had ever been and he was aching to be fucked.

‘Gracious,’ he said faintly. 

‘What d’you think?’ Bofur asked. 

‘Do- do you like me like this?’ he asked, turning back to face him. 

‘Love you,’ Bofur assured him, with a kiss for emphasis. 

‘The only thing left,’ Nori said, ‘and if you’ve had enough that’s all right, because this has been such a treat I feel greedy even asking, but the one thing left I’d love to do today is whack you with my belt.’

Bilbo pressed his lips together, thinking, trying to judge his reserves. ‘Would it be like the spanking? Lots and lots and lots of times?’

‘It would be six of the best, and that’s all. You can count ‘em out.’

‘Six,’ Bilbo repeated, to himself. ‘Six, and then you’d fuck me?’

‘I will fuck you senseless either way, you have my word on that. You deserve it.’

‘All right,’ Bilbo said, smiling, to his own surprise. ‘Go on, you brute.’

 _‘Thank_ you. At your service, and your family’s, for life.’ Nori fumbled in his eagerness to get his belt off, while Bilbo lowered his head back to Bofur’s lap, wondering how to brace himself when he had not the least idea how it felt to be hit with a belt. He had only ever been smacked, open-handed, on the bottom as a child and he was currently very well aware that that had not been done particularly hard. 

‘You’ll be fine,’ Bofur whispered to him. ‘Trick is, it hits you, everything goes blank for a moment, _then_ it hurts. If you’re ready for that, you can cope.’

‘Here it comes,’ said Nori. He had got up to stand on the bed in his stocking feet, his tunic hanging loose without the belt cinching it, wrapping the buckle end tightly in his fist. Bilbo could feel him shifting his weight and bracing himself, digging his feet into the mattress. He clenched his own toes in the coverlet, feeling the linen between them and under his knees, the texture of Bofur’s trousers pressing into his cheek and the smell of his warm body filling his nose and mouth. ‘One!’

Bilbo felt an almighty whack across his backside, knocking the wind out of him, and discovered that Bofur was absolutely right about the moment of blankness, though he hadn’t, and probably couldn’t have, said how sharp the pain was that followed. _Only five to go,_ he told himself.

‘Two!’ Nori cried, and a second whack crossed the burning line of the first. Bilbo shifted his head and bit a fold of Bofur’s trousers hard. 

‘Three!’ _That’s absolutely it, I can’t bear any more,_ Bilbo thought, and then _But I’m halfway there._

‘Four!’ The sound of the belt cracking against his buttocks was so loud, it was a wonder nobody was breaking the door down to see what on earth was going on. 

‘Five!’ The pain was a dull, burning black-red that filled his vision, his eyelids screwed tightly shut.

‘Six!’ Bilbo screamed, just once, a short, cracked sound that hurt his throat. His knees slipped out from under him; he managed to land on one hip rather than straight on his cock, which was one small mercy. He lay feeling light-headed and dizzy, with a singing in his ears, and whimpered, as Bofur held him and stroked his hair and his back. 

‘Oh, look at that. _Look_ at that.’ Nori was marvelling over his poor backside. ‘I’ve never seen stripes come up like that, that’s _gorgeous._ You all right, Bilbo?’

‘Mm. I’m - mm. Oh.’ Bilbo wet his lips with his tongue and tried to unscrunch his face. ‘I liked the spanking better.’

‘That’s all right. You stood up to it like a soldier. Thank you.’ He stroked the small of Bilbo’s back, the nearest place that didn’t hurt. ‘Now we take care of you.’ Nori dug in his pocket and came out with a jar of salve. ‘This’ll make it feel a bit better, and help it heal. Oin’s best. Goose-grease base.’

‘Has it got sage and onions in it?’ Bilbo asked vaguely, and heard Bofur chuckle. He wriggled his legs and lay a bit more comfortably as Nori smoothed the ointment onto his battered skin. It hurt to have him touch it, but it hurt just to have his bottom as part of his body, and he rather wished he could separate from it until it had calmed down a bit. He was growing giddy now, with a sort of backwash of reaction and a bubbling sense of achievement. ‘I was quite brave, wasn’t I!’

‘Oh, you weren’t just brave,’ Bofur said, tucking a wet curl behind Bilbo’s ear. ‘I’d say you were courageous. No, you were _valiant._ I was so proud of you. Knew you could do it, of course.’

‘Could I have my arms back, now, please?’

‘D’you know those knots?’ Nori asked Bofur, still delicately rubbing salve into bruised flesh. ‘There’s a loop there, pull it to get started.’

‘Right.’ With quick, deft fingers, Bofur untied and unravelled the rope. Peeling it away from his inflamed skin cost Bilbo more pain, but once again, the reward was relief. He curled his arms to the front of his body, examining the marks on them, the imprints of the rope’s twist. They seemed to be quite all right, only a little bit cramped. He looked at his close-trimmed nails, thought of last night, and began to giggle helplessly.

‘What’s up with you?’ Bofur asked.

‘I do such _dreadful_ things these days!’ Bilbo exclaimed, and curled up on his side like a boiled shrimp to laugh even harder.

‘Daft little bugger,’ said Bofur fondly. ‘Thought you wanted to be fucked?’

‘I do, I do, just let me finish - oh dear!’ He rocked back onto his tummy, giggling weakly, and let Nori finish anointing his bottom. As he worked lower, towards the aching crease underneath, he began to sweep his smooth greasy fingers into the cleft in passing. Whatever was in the ointment, probably not sage or onions, and more likely something like arnica, really was calming the outraged nerves a little, and the stroking sensation on the unbruised inner cheek was lovely. Before long, he was sighing with the pleasure of being steadily finger-fucked, rocking his head in Bofur’s lap.

‘Your arsehole is sucking my finger,’ Nori said, and Bilbo could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Because it’s... ooh... it’s _so_ nice...’ Bilbo crooned. He had gone very, deeply, limply relaxed, his limbs heavy and warm, and although his buttocks still ached and burned, particularly where the belt had hit him, that wasn’t putting him off at all.

‘Feel up to it now?’

‘Finger me a bit more and we’ll see. _Ooh!’_ Bilbo’s mouth curled in a gleeful smile. ‘You’re not to smack me any more, mind. Another finger, please.’ He squirmed and butted his head into Bofur’s stomach. 

‘Easy, there!’

‘Oh - oh, I could suck you off now! Oh, let’s!’ He reached for Bofur’s cock, kissing through the wam wool cloth of his trousers, fumbling with the drawstring at his waist.

‘I think you ought to spank him more often,’ Bofur said, tugging down his trousers and presenting his cock to Bilbo’s eager inspection. ‘Tell us, Bilbo, d’you like cocks or is that just a dirty rumour?’

‘Ah - mmm...’ He wrapped his hand around the sleek red shaft and slurped. He could hear Bofur giggling, and Nori asking why.

‘He’s sucking my prick with his little finger sticking out. Oh Bilbo, I love what a dainty little dear you are. Ahhh... I love how you use your tongue, too.’

‘D’you think he’s perfectly happy right now?’ Nori asked.

‘Close to it, but then you’re not fucking him yet.’

 _‘Right,_ then. Get on your belly, Bilbo.’ Nori gripped his hips and turned him onto his front. Bilbo shuffled his knees under him and pushed his bottom up, his ring twitching in anticipation. 

 _‘That,’_ he said, a trifle indistinctly, ‘is what it looks like when I’m presenting. So you know. Mmm...’ He pressed Bofur’s cock up to his belly and gave its underside a thorough tongue-bath. 

‘Gorgeous,’ Nori breathed. As he lapped and Bofur moaned, Bilbo could hear the pop of a cork and the lazy glug of oil from a bottle; felt a hand, carefully, lightly placed where he was only red and not purple, spreading his soft buttocks, and then the warm bulge of pressure on his ring, bearing in so that he stretched and gave. He trembled as the broad head of Nori’s cock popped in, and quaked as the shaft followed and filled him, bearing down deeply until it was fully seated.

‘You should see his _face,’_ Bofur murmured. He stroked Bilbo’s hair, his hips stirring very gently.

‘You should _fuck_ his face,’ Nori grunted.

‘Can I, Bilbo?’

‘Ah - all right... just... just in my mouth...’ He didn’t think he could cope with a cock down his throat as Thorin had. ‘I want, oh I want...’ He gave up trying to say what and sucked, hard, as Bofur began to rock his hips, one hand moving down to clasp the back of his neck. There was something wonderfully nostalgic about this, being the channel between the two of them as he had so many times on long sweaty boyhood afternoons. Piggy-in-the-middle, they’d called it, after the ball-game, though the object was very different. They were moving in rhythm, slow to start with, and the swollen tips of his nipples kept brushing the coarse blue linen bedspread beneath him, and the place that Nori’s cock stroked so well was pulsing deliciously. His mouth was watering, and he opened wider and tilted his head to let Bofur thrust against the inside of his cheek.

‘Good?’ Nori asked him.

‘Mmmm...’ Bofur sighed, and Bilbo, encouraged, hummed a little scale for him. He didn’t share Thorin’s ability to be passionate and musical at the same time, but it was very easy to moan with his lips tight around Bofur’s cock, gazing up at him, sucking and gulping and trying hard to make his mouth as soft and receptive as his bottom. Not for the first time, he wished he could draw up his teeth as a cat draws up its claws.

Nori was breathing heavily, beginning to thrust harder and deeper, the pleasure he was drumming up inside overwhelming the ache of the bruises as his hips bumped them. Bofur was red in the face, biting his lower lip, his cheeks and eyelids creased with a kind of suppressed smile. They were both sighing, grunting, murmuring over him, their hands moving over his hips, his back, his shoulders, and he heard soft, throaty, half-formed words of pleasure and praise. He was a beauty and a slut and a pet and a piglet, and he was beside himself with delight. He could have cried when Nori spoilt the rhythm and the surge of it by coming. As he pulled out, a thick dribble of warm spunk escaped along with his cock, dangling for a moment before a chance movement slapped it against Bilbo’s thigh, where it stuck and slid lower. 

‘Take over,’ Nori panted, shuffling back on his haunches. ‘Get him off. Feed his arse.’

‘D’you want to turn round or will I climb over you?’ Bofur asked Bilbo. ‘Now now. Let go.’ He eased his cock out of Bilbo’s eager mouth and tapped it reprovingly on his nose. ‘Come on, pet, don’t you want it up you?’ As he clambered down the bed, Bilbo rolled onto his back, bumping him with one knee. 

‘I want a kiss while you do it.’

‘Yes, oh yes.’ Everything was the sweetness of Bofur’s lips and tongue and the rasp and tickle of his beard, and _then_ everything was his hands on his thighs and his bottom, and _then_ it was his cock sliding home, _home_ in the nicest possible way, their bellies and their mouths pressed together, and his legs bouncing in the air as Bofur plunged into him. All his impressions were a muddle, and his body was unutterably greedy, and every trace of pain was blotted out by enormous physical joy. He came well before Bofur was finished, and as the pounding went on, had another of those strange delicious following shudders - not really an orgasm, surely, but a lovely reward for being patient.

He lay there filled and blanketed, stroking Bofur’s tangled plaits as he caught his breath, loving the heat and nearness of their bellies and chests pressed together, Bofur’s shirt rucked up so that their skins kissed, every speck of his body feeling as if it had been licked and stroked and polished to a golden shine. He was starting to feel his bruises again, but they still didn’t matter.

‘I love you,’ he whispered under Bofur’s hair.

‘Mmm... love you so...’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In some ways that feels like an awkward place to stop, but in others like a nice point to let them rest for a little bit. I did want to get something out for this weekend, and natural pauses in the plot don't always coincide with Life.  
> 'The Ball of Erebor' is, of course, based on '[The Ball of Kerrimuir](http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/bawdy-songs/000588.HTM),' one of the filthiest things ever sung, a sort of gigantic multigenerational collaboration by the Scottish to see who can top the previous verse. I thought the dwarves would find it funny. There are a lot of different versions and variations, and you are, of course, free to compose your own. This came about purely because the part of my brain that combines weirdly disparate things suddenly pointed out to me that 'Erebor' would scan to 'Kerrimuir' if you sang it drunkenly enough. Whether any such orgy ever actually took place at either Erebor or Kerrimuir is a matter for scholarly debate, much like the provenance of 'A Substitute for Pudding.'


	16. Not Entirely Delightful and Somewhat Unsatisfactory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly, it's a chapter with no actual sex scenes. Just people talking and trying to negotiate some rather complicated relationships. This one deals further with Bilbo and Thorin's mutual kink-shaming, which they really need to sort out if it isn't to spoil their relationship. Unexamined double standards will do that.

They drowsed together for a little while, until Bofur grew too heavy and Bilbo gently nudged him away. He tried to soften the blow, if Bofur felt it as a blow, with delicate, tired little kisses. The bed was narrow, and the mattress sagged in the middle, so they were still piled together. Bofur’s clothes were crumpled, with dark damp patches from his sweat and Bilbo’s. He took off his hat and fanned himself with it, smiling lazily. The air in the little room was stiflingly hot and close by now, so the hat’s only effect was to move a warm breeze around.

Nori was sitting at the foot of the bed, cross-legged. He had taken off his shirt and was leaning back on both arms, grinning at them. ‘You two fuck like it’s going out of fashion,’ he said. ‘I never heard such noises.’

‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, sheepishly. ‘Were we very loud? I don’t really notice, in the thick of it.’

‘Not _loud,_ but all the grunting and gurgling was an education.’

‘I feel such a sticky mess,’ Bilbo said, stretching out his legs. ‘In a nice way.’

‘You felt a sticky mess to me too,’ said Bofur. ‘I had Nori squishing out all around my cock.’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Nori said, shrugging smugly. ‘I come in pints.’

‘I never said I minded. Quite like that squishy feeling.’

‘There’s nothing like feeding a well-fucked arse, is there? Can we have a look, Bilbo?’

‘Mm.’ He drew up one leg, prying his buttocks apart with one hand. They parted stickily, and he felt a fresh leakage that made him flush warm all over, just as he had been cooling down. ‘I think my bottom’s worn out. I shall have to close it for repairs.’

‘Did you like it, though?’ Nori reached out to stroke Bilbo’s foot, petting the woolly hair on the instep.

‘Yes. Yes, I did.’ He rolled onto his side to snuggle against Bofur, looking placidly back at Nori, and moved his toe to pet his hand, in return. ‘It was awfully strange, but I felt I was in safe hands really. And I don’t know if I like the _pain,_ really, but...’

‘Well, a lot of people don’t _._ It’s a means to an end. What was the end, for you? I want to know so I can get you there again.’ He grasped Bilbo’s big toe and wiggled it.

‘I liked... there was a feeling _after_ the pain, a sort of thrill, a blooming feeling where you’d pinched me or slapped me. And I got so _hot,_ and I felt... oh... I don’t know just _why_ it was so exciting, but it certainly was. _You_ were exciting, too. And I felt rather wicked and daring. And I liked... I like how I feel sometimes, when I’m fucking, as if I’m... well, it’s very hard to explain.’

‘Go on. I’m interested.’

Bilbo curled the end of one of Bofur’s plaits around his finger, looking at it thoughtfully as he talked. ‘I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, you see. It isn’t how I’d like to feel all the time. It isn’t what I think I _really_ am. It’s just something it’s nice to be temporarily.’

‘What’s that, pet?’ Bofur murmured. 

‘Well, you know, _just_ someone for fucking. Someone who just feels pleasure and gives pleasure and that’s all there is to him.’

‘Why should you be shy about that?’ Bofur asked. ‘That’s lovely. And of course you can just be that when you feel like it. I’ve seen you go like that plenty of times. Right back the first time I saw you with Thorin and the lads.’

‘I _wish_ I’d seen that,’ Nori said with a rueful smile. 

‘Two cocks pumping away in his soft little arse - two _royal_ cocks. And another one in his mouth, and him happy as Lari.’

[Dwarvish folk-hero noted for his cheerful outlook and serendipitous luck. Ed.]

‘Well, anyway, no, I’m not shy about that, actually. But the tying and slapping and everything made me feel even more like that. And coping with it made me feel brave and strong, and giving in to it... well.’ He ran out of words and tried to express it by making a face, arching his eyebrows and giving a tight-lipped smile.

‘You said you liked the spanking better.’

‘Yes... well, it didn’t hurt quite so much, and you were doing it with your hand. A belt didn’t feel as _personal._ I would still be happy for you to do a bit of that, though, if it’s your favourite.’

‘Oh, it is. But I like you liking it feeling _personal.’_ Nori slid his hand down to rub the sole of Bilbo’s foot with his thumb, pressing hard into the arch where the most feeling was. ‘I’ll spank you as much as you like. Make your arse wobble like a raspberry jelly, then fill it up with cream.’

‘I do appreciate your putting it in terms of pudding.’ He flexed his foot against Nori’s thumb. ‘If you were a pudding, or something sweet, you’d be... hmmm... gingerbread. That lovely strong sticky gingerbread called parkin. We eat it in the autumn when the nights start drawing in and we have bonfires.’

‘So do we,’ said Bofur. ‘Look at that - something in common!’ He gave Bilbo a squeeze and a peck.

‘I should make some,’ Bilbo said. ‘Though it’s a tricky thing, because you have to leave it for a few days to let the flavour develop. I might have to hide it so that it doesn’t get eaten before it’s quite ready.’

‘Not long now till Durin’s Day,’ Nori said. ‘I always liked the fires for that when I was a lad. Everyone gathered round with their faces bright in the glow, singing the old songs.’ He leaned forward confidentially. ‘Nobody notices a little hand rummaging in their pocket.’

‘You’re awful,’ Bilbo said fondly. 

‘I didn’t get any pocket money,’ Nori shrugged. ‘Though I admit that’s because Dori made Ma stop it whenever I’d misbehaved.’

‘Oh, you just got your pocket money stopped? I got the strap,’ Bofur said. ‘Not the fun way! Not that I had much pocket money, either - if I wanted some I had to go and earn it, running messages.’

‘I’d do that too,’ Nori said. ‘Sometimes I was just practising - you know, seeing what I could get away with without anyone noticing. If they didn’t look like they could afford to lose it, I’d slip it back, and they never knew the difference.’ He tweaked Bilbo’s big toe again.

‘You’re a scamp,’ Bofur said, wagging a finger at him with mock severity. ‘A thorough scamp.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Nori calmly. ‘Always have been. I get it from my dad, who by all accounts was of no account. And I’ll admit, one reason I was so keen to come on this trip was that a few people were looking for me, in a finger-breaking sort of mood. But I’m thinking of going straight if it all pans out, I really am. The tricky part is, what will I do? I’ve never really turned my hand to a trade or a craft, unless you count picking pockets and running numbers.’

‘What about smacking bottoms?’

‘That’s more of a hobby between friends. Call me a talented amateur.’

‘Are there professionals?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Oh, yes! Don’t you have them in the Shire?’

‘We don’t even have _this_ in the Shire, unless it’s going on behind closed doors. Perhaps they do that sort of thing in Bree.’

Nori chuckled. ‘I’ve been to Bree. It’s not exactly sin city.’

‘I’ve heard stories,’ said Bilbo, darkly.

‘You could _be_ in stories,’ Bofur said, and blew a raspberry against his cheek.

‘Who wants a smoke?’ Nori asked. 

‘Me.’

‘Me, please.’ 

‘Right.’ He leaned over the side of the bed, yet again, and produced a tin of pipeweed while Bofur got out his pipe and located Bilbo’s for him. They were quietly occupied for a little while, filling and lighting and puffing. Bofur rearranged the bed’s one pillow behind him so that he could sit propped against the wall, Bilbo curled beside him with his head on his belly. 

‘What d’you think you’ll do? I mean, assuming it all pans out?’ Nori asked Bofur, puffing smoke from his nostrils.

‘Guild of Toymakers,’ Bofur said, without hesitation. ‘Me and Bifur’ll get it back up and running. We’ll sell what we make down here to start off with - these people like their amusements and they’ve certainly got money to spend. That Master, now, he’ll want party-favours, and dollies and puppets to give to his cronies’ children, and perhaps a little clockwork man to walk about on the tablecloth with a dish of sweeties after dinner.’

‘I think he’d want a little clockwork Thorin,’ Nori said, smirking. ‘Look at _my_ King Under the Mountain, ladies and gentlemen.’

Bofur cackled with laughter, kicking his feet up and jostling Bilbo. ‘That’s brilliant! He would, too!’

‘Would you, though?’ Bilbo asked. ‘Make one?’

‘Oh, no. We can’t let them think of us that way. I’d make him one that looks just like him, a little wee Master with that wonky nose, and let him take it as a compliment or not, just as he liked.’

‘He patted me on the head once,’ Bilbo said. ‘He’s been very generous and helpful, but I do wish he hadn’t done that.’

‘I pat you on the head sometimes.’

‘You’re allowed. I’d have said something otherwise.’ He turned his head and kissed Bofur’s belly.

‘And you, Bilbo?’ Nori asked.

‘Oh. Well, I’ve never really had a craft or a job. I suppose what I do best is keeping house. I could do that for you,’ he said to Bofur. ‘You could come home after a busy day making toys and find your slippers warming by the fire-’

‘And Bilbo bum-up on the hearthrug,’ Nori put in.

‘Oh, hush.’

‘I was wondering if you wanted to take to burglary,’ Bofur said. ‘Full-time, I mean.’

‘But who would need a full-time burglar?’

‘You could be a spy,’ Nori said, wagging his pipe-stem at Bilbo. ‘You’d be great. When his majesty wanted to know what the elves were up to, or what they were talking about down in Lake-town, why, he’d just whisper in your ear and you’d slip on your ring and flit over.’

‘I think I’d rather not,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully. ‘It’s rather nerve-wracking stuff. I’m going to do this job because I gave my word, and because I want to help you all, but I wouldn’t like to do it for a living.’

‘Well, if you wanted to keep house for me, I’d count myself very lucky,’ Bofur said. ‘Let’s not count our chickens - but if things go well, we’ll have a lot to talk about and a lot of plans to make.’

‘I have one thing I want to make sure I do,’ Bilbo said, ‘before we leave here, at any rate. I’d like to get my mark tattooed, since Ori so kindly drew it up for me. We were on our way to ask Oin about it when you sidetracked us, Nori. It was a very worthwhile sidetrack, though.’

‘At your service,’ said Nori obligingly. 

‘How are tattoos actually _done?’_ Bilbo asked. ‘Is it a special ink that soaks really deeply into the skin? A proper indelible stain?’

‘Well, there’s special ink, but it doesn’t get into the skin on its own,’ Bofur said. ‘He’s going to take a special needle, and tap it in, to prick the ink right down deep where it’ll stay. Tap-tap-tap, prick-prick-prick, all along the lines. It takes quite a while, and it stings like billy-oh.’

‘I didn’t realise.’ Bilbo felt quite alarmed. 

‘Well, you can cope with a bit of pain.’

‘Not _needles!’_

‘You see, I don’t think it stings,’ Nori said. ‘Mine felt more _scratchy._ As if I was just sitting there letting a cat stick its claws into me again and again.’

‘You can still change your mind,’ Bofur said kindly. ‘You don’t need a mark, after all.’

‘Will you sit with me and hold my hand? I don’t want to be a baby about it, but that would help a good deal.’

‘Can I watch too?’ Nori asked. ‘I could hold your hand if Bofur’s hand needs a rest.’

‘No wanking under the table,’ Bofur said. ‘You’ll put Oin off.’

‘I would _not,’_ said Nori indignantly. ‘I would just quietly and discreetly enjoy his dear little face turning red, and the tears twinkling in his eyes. And if he could possibly whisper something like “Oh Nori, it hurts so much,” well, I’d be obliged.’

‘Oh Nori, it hurts so much,’ Bilbo said in the best whimper he could muster. ‘Oh! I don’t know if I can bear it.’

‘There! Just like that.’

‘And what if Oin thinks I’m a big baby and throws down his needle in disgust?’

‘Oh, he won’t hear you. That ear trumpet’s a front; if he weren’t so proud he’d be talking on his fingers the whole time.’

‘Just possibly, I should let these bruises and rope-burns heal before I volunteer to have needles stuck in my back.’ Bilbo shifted, rolling more onto the front of his hip, to relieve the pressure to the rear. ‘I wonder how much longer we’ll spend here.’

‘I know some of the older chaps - Oin and Balin especially - are still feeling none too spry after the barrel ride,’ said Bofur. ‘They’ll probably want some more rest and good grazing before we set off again. Which suits me. We all lost condition in the forest and it can’t hurt to be well fed. And do I mind the opportunity to have a sort of honeymoon with you? I don’t mind it a bit.’ He added to Nori, over the top of Bilbo’s head, ‘We’re in love.’

‘I am _so surprised,’_ said Nori, clapping one splayed hand to his chest and dropping his jaw. ‘You could knock me down with a feather.’

‘I suppose everyone knows or guesses by now,’ Bilbo said, blushing rather.

‘What are you doing about Thorin, though? You’re always in and out of his bed, too. Which is one thing when it’s just friends, but another when you start talking about being in love.’ Nori spoke rather earnestly, for him. ‘I’m not like it myself, but a lot of us are pretty possessive. I wouldn’t like to see either of you get hurt, and I really wouldn’t like to see this muck up the whole quest.’

‘Well, both Bofur and Thorin have actually been very understanding about sharing me. I love each of them, and I’d like to divide my time between them. Well, I shall want some time by myself, as well, and to visit with other friends - I always say you can’t really appreciate people until you get to miss them a little. The only part that’s bothering me is - look, can you promise me that what I say in this room stays in this room?’

‘Of course,’ Bofur said. 

‘On my honour,’ said Nori, got a flat look from both of them, and amended that to ‘I swear on Ori’s head.’

‘Well, it became very clear to me last night that Dwalin and Thorin love each other as well. Dwalin doesn’t know Thorin loves _me,_ though Thorin has told me so. How can Thorin tell Dwalin that, without Dwalin thinking Thorin doesn’t really care for _him?’_ He blurted it all out, and then lay with a nasty doubtful feeling. He was certain that he trusted Bofur, but very much hoped that it hadn’t been a mistake to trust Nori. It was so easy to feel that you trusted someone entirely when you were in bed together; what if he had been a fool and betrayed Thorin and Dwalin both?

‘I really don’t know,’ said Bofur thoughtfully. ‘That is a knotty one. I know how you are, but I wouldn’t have expected it of Thorin.’ He paused, and said hastily ‘I think that sounded a bit like I’m criticising. There’s nothing in the world wrong with it, it’s just very different from our usual way, and he’s so traditional. Well. You expect a king to be, don’t you? He’s not just a dwarf. He’s _dwarvishness.’_  

‘Perhaps I should give him up so that he can be happy with Dwalin, but I _do_ love him so,’ Bilbo said unhappily.

‘I almost feel sorry for the grumpy sod,’ said Nori. ‘Having to choose between a sweet little pudding like Bilbo and a magnificent beast like Dwalin. Both of them on their knees for him - some people have got _problems,_ haven’t they?’ Seeing Bilbo open his mouth to protest, he patted his foot. ‘No, don’t take on, I’m not in earnest.’

‘I know who I’d pick,’ Bofur said, ‘but then, I don’t have to choose.’

‘Dwalin would be a wonderful challenge,’ said Nori thoughtfully.

 _‘I_ think he’s gorgeous,’ Bilbo said, half shrugging. ‘I’d be so happy if he just wanted to share too. But he seems to have gone off me because I’ve said I love Thorin and you too, as if that meant I was a really bad sort.’

‘You’re a very good sort. The best sort. Perhaps he just needs time to get used to the idea,’ Bofur suggested.

‘I thought he didn’t like me at first, and then I thought I’d won him over, and now it all seems to have gone down the drain. _And_ I don’t know what to do about the dragon!’

‘None of us do!’ Nori said. ‘I’ve never even _seen_ a dragon! I won’t even try a job where there’s a guard dog.’ He lifted one leg by his ankle and pulled back his trouser leg to show his calf, pointing to a gnarled U-shaped scar. ‘You see that? Terrier. Little shite.’

Bilbo could not help chuckling a little, and Nori grinned as he set his leg down.

‘You’ll think of something, pet,’ Bofur assured him. ‘I’ll say it until you believe it.’

‘You _are_ a treasure,’ Bilbo said, rubbing his cheek on Bofur’s warm belly.

 

In good time, they stirred and got up. Nori produced a copper pan - which, to be fair, was hung on the wall beside the little stove and not hidden under the bed - and heated water from the bucket. They washed themselves at the little sink, which was inconveniently high on the wall, and Nori applied a fresh coat of salve to Bilbo’s bottom to replace any that had been washed off. By now he was feeling very stiff and sore indeed, very much like the soreness he had experienced after his first few days riding a pony, and uttered many little grunts and winces as he got back into his clothes. His bottom was the worst of it, though his tits were sore too and some of the rope-lines of chafing stung when the soft linen of his shirt brushed them.

‘Ah, diddums,’ said Nori, and patted his lower back, one of the few places unmarked. ‘Be proud of your stripes! You came by ‘em honestly.’

‘For courage,’ said Bofur, clapping his hat on Bilbo’s head. ‘Shall we go and ask Oin?’

They found him in the pantry investigating a cheese. It took some time to get him to understand Bilbo’s request, and Bofur attempted to translate it into hand-sign.

‘No bloody need for Iglishmek,’ Oin growled. ‘I’m not _deef._ I’m just a little hard of hearing in one ear.’ He studied the piece of paper, frowning. ‘Well, nobody’s going to mistake this for a real mark. That’s for the best. Aye, I could do that. Give me a day or two - I’ll have to see if I can find the materials round here. I’ll want to practise drawing it too. You don’t want me doing this freehand on your back for the first time.’ He looked at Bilbo narrowly over the top of the paper. ‘You know I’ll want paying, don’t you?’

‘Of course. I would never expect a skilled craftsman, indeed, an artist to work for free. However, as we are all temporarily embarrassed for funds, I hope you’ll accept my IOU for the time being,’ Bilbo said in his best business manner.

‘You’d better hope I don’t tattoo IOU on your bum,’ Oin snorted. ‘All right, but we’ll write it out _now.’_ He produced a stub of pencil from his pocket, licked it, and scribbled the form of an IOU on the back of the tattoo paper, underlining the price. Bilbo, who had not the vaguest notion what was a fair price for a dwarvish tattoo, glanced surreptitiously at Bofur, who groomed his whiskers with forefinger and thumb and gave a judicious nod.

‘Very well,’ he said, and signed his name at the bottom. ‘Thank you!’

 

Bombur took sole charge of lunch, preparing a mighty soup, which, it must be said, was considerably better than what he had managed to produce on the road. His cookery clearly benefited from a properly equipped kitchen. The soup was thick with savoury beef stock and tender vegetables, bobbing with suety dumplings and tender oxtail, and gleaming with little limpid beads of molten fat. They shovelled it down with handfuls of hot, crusty bread, while Bilbo tried to disguise the fact that he did not feel at all like sitting down by wandering around the table carrying his bowl and supping while stopping to chat to different people. He felt shy when he came to Thorin and Dwalin, who were sitting together. There were a great many things he wanted to say, but none that would be right to say in front of everyone. He was still not sure that Dwalin liked him at all, at this point.

‘Mister Baggins,’ Thorin said, relieving him of the necessity of striking up a conversation. ‘I think you should take a turn to sing at tonight’s feast.’

‘Oh, but I’m not a good singer at all,’ Bilbo protested. ‘You’re all so much better.’

‘Nevertheless, you haven’t done your share yet - we must sing for our supper here. You’ll be a novelty. Sing that little drinking song, perhaps.’

‘Do a little dance,’ suggested Kili from across the table.

‘I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how,’ Bilbo said in dismay, much to Fili and Kili’s amusement.

‘A song will be quite sufficient,’ Thorin said, smiling. ‘I must insist.’

‘Very well,’ Bilbo said, reluctantly. ‘Though you can’t blame me if they decide to run us out of town.’

 

In the Master’s dining hall, he got around the difficulty of sitting by dispensing with the usual thick book and kneeling up on the bench, his elbows on the tabletop. As long as he didn’t let his bottom down on his heels, his bruises bothered him only a little. They gave him sharp twinges if he moved incautiously, but he moved carefully all the time that he remembered. Sometimes Nori would catch his eye, and wink; sometimes it would be Bofur, and he would twinkle. Either way, his face would flush and his lips would tingle and his bottom and his tits would throb and itch. 

When he got up to sing between courses, his voice sounded thin in his own ears, the song sounded weak and poor without a cheerful, tipsy chorus of hobbits to back it up, and the patter of applause was only polite. That made him flush again, with embarrassment and annoyance; he had been considered a good singer when he was a boy, but he knew it had all changed when his voice did. It was too bad of Thorin to have set him up for this - and he was smiling into his beard, the mean beast. Bilbo bided his time until he saw Thorin get up, brushing aside a question from Dwalin with a pat on his shoulder, and leave the hall for the privy; then he pattered after him in a foment of indignation.

He caught Thorin just inside the door of the washroom before the privies, and jabbed a stiff finger into the back of his upper arm.

‘You _knew_ they’d be like that about it!’ Bilbo accused him. ‘Of all the mean tricks!’

‘Ouch,’ said Thorin, holding his arm. ‘How did you hit the very place where I have a new bruise?’

‘Well, what are you doing getting bruises in such a stupid place?’

‘Fingermarks, Bilbo,’ Thorin said, in a low tone. ‘They do dig in.’

Bilbo glared at him and poked it again.

‘Ouch!’

‘That’s revenge.’

‘What do you need revenge for? I thought you sang well.’

‘You knew I didn’t want to do it and I did it to please you and then you _smirked.’_

Thorin looked away, pressing his lips tightly together.

‘You’re smirking now!’

‘I’m trying not to,’ said Thorin, failing. ‘Very well, it was a little unsporting of me - but it really was only polite for you to sing at least once.’ He slung an arm around Bilbo’s waist and pulled him in. ‘And I would never put you in the way of real harm or humiliation. I don’t like singing for my supper either. Can you forgive me for a little smirk?’

‘That’s not a proper apology,’ Bilbo said gruffly, staring Thorin in the chest. ‘You can tell because it doesn’t have the word “sorry” in it.’

‘I can see that I’ve upset you,’ Thorin said more gently, ‘and I am sorry for it.’

‘All right, then,’ Bilbo said, with an ill grace, still not lifting his eyes. He allowed his chin to be coaxed up by hand, and permitted himself to be kissed, before he wound his arms around Thorin’s neck, rose on his toes and kissed back properly.

‘We shouldn’t do this here,’ Thorin murmured. ‘Not private.’

‘I don’t do things in privies,’ Bilbo replied. ‘Too smelly.’

‘At least come around behind the door.’ Thorin led him backwards, pressing hurried kisses into his mouth, passing his hands up and down his back. As they reached the shadow of the door, he ran one down to squeeze Bilbo’s bottom, and made him squeak and jerk in pain.

‘What’s the matter?’ Thorin asked, startled.

‘I’m sore. Leave it alone. _You_ were complaining about your bruises.’

‘You shouldn’t have bruises there.’ Thorin reached for Bilbo’s waistband, and got his hand swatted for his pains. ‘Very well. Bilbo, will you please show me what’s the matter with your backside?’

Bilbo dithered. He neither wished to show, nor to say something cross like ‘none of your beeswax.’ Still, it was no good to keep secrets when people already suspected something wrong. ‘All right, here,’ he said. Rather than take off his coat and waistcoat, he unbuttoned his braces and dropped his trousers at the back, bending slightly to let Thorin see the damage.

He couldn’t see Thorin’s face, but the tone of tight control in his voice told him nothing good. ‘Bilbo. Who’s done this to you?’

Again, ‘none of your beeswax’ rose into his mouth before he swallowed it back. ‘Does it matter?’ he hedged.

‘It matters a great deal, because I have to be sure I’m punishing the right man.’

‘I don’t want anyone punished!’ Bilbo said, swinging around in a hurry and clutching at his trousers to stop them falling around his ankles.

‘He’s injured you!’

‘What if he has?’ Bilbo dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Did you punish Dwalin for injuring _you?’_

‘That was completely different. You’ve-’ Thorin’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. ‘Pull yourself together,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘We’ll talk more of this later.’ He stamped off into the privy, and Bilbo, very flustered, had just time to shove his hand into his waistcoat pocket and get the ring on his finger before a tall man came in.

He tidied his clothes, went out into the corridor and waited until he was sure there was no-one about before slipping off the ring. He returned to the dining hall in a foul temper and very anxious about what was to come. 

As they arrived home, Thorin pointed up the stairs, with a sharp look at Bilbo and an equally sharp jerk of his head. Bilbo followed him, and found Bofur was keeping pace. He overtook Bilbo at the top of the stairs and caught up to Thorin at the door of his room.

‘What do you want?’ Thorin asked coldly.

‘Well, listen, Thorin, sir, don’t be angry with Bilbo. None of this is his fault.’

‘You try to screen each other, don’t you?’ Thorin snapped. ‘It was obviously you, though he wouldn’t admit it.’

Bofur blinked. ‘Actually, if we’re thinking of the same thing, it wasn’t.’

‘It’s disgusting. What is wrong with you? Look how small he is.’

‘Never mind how small I am,’ Bilbo put in, urgently. ‘Don’t let’s argue in the hall, for goodness’ sake.’ He turned to Bofur, taking both his hands in his. ‘Thank you. Thank you for trying to help. I think I really must discuss this with Thorin alone, though.’

‘All right,’ Bofur said uneasily. ‘Come and see me afterwards, all right?’ He gave Bilbo a quick peck on the cheek. ‘I’m going to bed, but I’ll sit up for you.’

‘All right. Thank you.’ Bilbo turned back to Thorin, who looked as if he was torn between fuming and being rather disarmed, and settled for glaring at Bofur’s back as he walked away. ‘Come on, then.’ He went into the bedroom first, Thorin following close behind and shutting the door after them.

‘Nori did it, then,’ said Thorin. 

‘Yes, all right, he did. Bofur was there too, though, taking care of me.’

‘How well did he take care of you, letting Nori make such a mess of you?’ Thorin put his hands on his hips, fretfully. ‘Have I seen the worst of it?’

‘You haven’t seen the whole thing,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘Will it put your mind at rest if you do?’

‘It would help,’ Thorin said.

‘All right.’ He went over to the fireplace and took off his clothes, hanging them over the arm of the chair, then held out his arms from his sides and turned around slowly so that Thorin could see it all. He kept his eyes down as he did, worried that he was only going to see anger, but when he had completed the circle he looked up. He was reassured, if only a little, to find that while Thorin looked angry, he also looked deeply worried, and it softened his face a little. ‘There, that’s all.’

‘Are you in much pain?’

‘I’m sore, but it isn’t all that bad. You must understand that every bit of this was done with my leave. I said yes, freely, and I wasn’t afraid.’

‘They tied you up and beat you,’ Thorin said, stepping forward. ‘On your chest, too.’

‘That was only slapping, not beating - I know it’s a fine distinction, but it matters to me.’

‘Your poor little nipples are purple.’

Bilbo shrugged, stubbornly. ‘Well, then, turnabout is fair play, so I think you should show me your bruises.’

‘Very well.’ Thorin undressed himself briskly, the tense movements of his body conveying his anger even if he was keeping it out of his voice. ‘There. Satisfied?’

‘Turn around,’ said Bilbo, holding out one hand and twirling his forefinger in the air. As Thorin did, he exclaimed ‘Oh, I like that! You’re angry with me for having a few belt-marks on my bottom, but your bum is covered in _bite-_ marks! How do you sit down?’

‘That is _different!’_ Thorin snapped back.

‘Why? Just because it’s you? Or because it was Dwalin, not Nori? It’s not fair, either way! _And_ your arms are all over finger-marks, _and_ \- is that a hand-mark on your _neck?_ Move your hair out of the way!’ He acted before Thorin could, springing forward and pushing his hair back. ‘Thorin! Did he _choke_ you?’

‘Slightly,’ Thorin admitted, his eyes sliding away guiltily.

‘Why on _earth_ would you want things like that done to you?’

‘I might ask you the same thing!’

‘Well, _that’s_ different, it’s _play,_ it’s not deadly earnest like you two were.’

‘Dwalin and I understand each other. I can trust him completely. How well do you know Nori?’

‘Hah! How well do I know _you?’_  

The staring match that ensued was interrupted by a tap at the door.

‘Who is it?’ Thorin snapped.

‘Dwalin,’ said the voice without.

‘Do you mind if he comes in?’ Thorin asked Bilbo in an undertone.

‘He may as well,’ Bilbo said, still cross but a little mollified to have his opinion considered. ‘I need to lie down,’ he mumbled. As Thorin pulled his shirt back over his head, he stamped off to clamber up on the bed and lie on his front, propped on his elbows.

‘Come in, Dwalin,’ Thorin called. The door opened no further than absolutely necessary to admit Dwalin, who sidled in and closed it behind him.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Not particularly, no,’ Thorin replied. A little of the tension sagged out of him as Dwalin put one hand behind his head and pulled him into a hug. 

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, his voice a deep, comforting rumble.

‘I am,’ said Bilbo from the bed. ‘Apparently I’m to do as Thorin says and not as he does.’

‘He let Nori _whip_ him,’ Thorin said.

‘No, I did not. You whip somebody with a _whip._ You can tell from the name. He hit me with his belt.’

‘Looks like he did a thorough job,’ Dwalin said, looking over Thorin’s shoulder. ‘Very crisp stripes - hardly blurry at all.’

‘Don’t _compliment_ the _workmanship,’_ Thorin complained.

‘Is it much worse than what I did to you?’

‘And don’t be on his _side.’_ Thorin put his forehead down on Dwalin’s shoulder.

‘I’m always on your side,’ Dwalin assured him. He looked over at Bilbo again. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Well, he wanted to. And I wanted to see what it would be like.’

‘You didn’t know whether you’d like it?’

‘How could I know unless I tried?’

‘It’s all right for you,’ Thorin said, slightly muffled. ‘You’re free to try anything you like. You have nothing to lose but your hide.’

‘Well, it is _my_ hide, and I can share it with whoever I like. It’s not yours because you care about me.’ He paused, trying to think whether he could offer some concession to Thorin’s feelings without giving up anything really important to him. ‘If it helps at all, I didn’t care that much for the belt part. I enjoyed the spanking more. We talked about it all. And we set a special word that I could say if I wanted him to stop - and I did, once, and he waited until I felt better before he did anything else. You see? All fair and above board.’

‘It does sound as if they did it properly,’ Dwalin said. He gave Bilbo a sharp look over Thorin’s shoulder. ‘I suppose now you think you’re in love with Nori and all.’

‘No, as a matter of fact. He’s my good friend. Like you, Dwalin. At least, I hope you feel we’re still friends.’

‘Ach, the face,’ Dwalin muttered, looking away. ‘Yes, yes, we’re friends.’

‘And it’s different from love, because while I’m very, very fond of you, and I would miss you if we were parted, I don’t... there’s something more, a sort of needing someone.’

‘I know, I know,’ Dwalin said. He stepped back from Thorin and came over to the bed, where he put one hand lightly on Bilbo’s bottom, inspecting the damage. ‘Not so bad. What was it, six of the best?’

‘That’s right. I suppose there are six stripes.’

‘It looks like five if you don’t know what you’re looking for. He’s got a couple of them overlapping very closely.’

‘Do you do a lot of this sort of thing?’

‘A bit,’ Dwalin said, sliding his hand up Bilbo’s back and examining the rope-marks. ‘These knots,’ he said over his shoulder to Thorin, ‘were tied to hold him without hurting him. Roll over, Bilbo? Well, and to display his tits.’ He ran one thick fingertip along the chafed line under the left one, still showing the twisted texture of the rope, making Bilbo wince very slightly. ‘Have you decided you like a bit of pain, then, lad? I could help you with that.’

It gave Bilbo a little thrill of pleasure and fear to hear that in Dwalin’s deep growl, and he swallowed, his stomach fluttering. ‘I - er - I can’t have any more until this lot has healed. I don’t want to overdo it.’

‘That’s sense,’ Dwalin said, with a small shrug. He turned back to Thorin. ‘I’d say all this was done by someone who knows what he’s about, and never went too far. We all know what he’s like,’ he said, with a jerk of his head back towards Bilbo. ‘Little bugger’s insatiable. It was only a matter of time before he wanted to try it.’ Just as Bilbo was feeling rather justified, Dwalin turned back and pointed one finger at him. ‘Now, d’you want to say sorry to Thorin for acting as if there’s something wrong with him for liking what he does? D’you want to remember he’s a grown man, knows his own mind, and dearer to me than my own eyes?’

Bilbo sat up, awkwardly, trying to find a position that kept the pressure off his sorest spots. He felt strongly disinclined to say anything of the sort, and very much wanted to protest that he was only worried about Thorin. He was still convinced that what he had tried and what Thorin had wanted were quite different, but he was prepared, if he squashed down his hurt pride with great vigour, to admit that they might both be permissible. ‘I’m sorry, Thorin,’ he said carefully. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ve a right to do as you please. And I’m sorry, Dwalin, because I know you do love him and wouldn’t really let him come to harm.’

Dwalin and Thorin exchanged glances, and there was a very brief flicker between them in which Dwalin seemed to be saying ‘Go on.’ Thorin approached the bed, leaned in and kissed Bilbo gently. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And you’ve the same right. It would help me a good deal, though, if you’d tell me when you plan to do this next.’

‘All right.’ Bilbo felt a great wash of relief, and gave a small smile. ‘And we can take care of each other.’

‘I think Bofur will be worrying about you. Why don’t you get dressed and go to him? I would like to talk more with Dwalin tonight. Perhaps, tomorrow, all four of us can talk about what to do next, because I think that carrying on as we have been, without any plan, will lead to more problems.’


	17. Sticky Buns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ANOTHER CHAPTER WITH NO SEX IN IT. JUST CONVERSATIONS AND PEOPLE TRYING TO SORT OUT THEIR RELATIONSHIPS.  
> I promise sex next time. At least there is some food?  
> Also sorry if the spot-on-the-back part really grosses anyone out.

Bilbo made his way back to the shared bedroom, feeling quite worn out. The lights were out, but he found Bofur easily by the glow of his pipe-bowl and the smell of his tobacco.

‘You shouldn’t smoke in bed,’ he whispered as he undressed beside him. ‘You can set fire to your blankets and perish horribly.’

‘How’d it go?’ Bofur whispered back, lifting the covers to let Bilbo, down to his shirt, crawl in.

‘That was so brave of you, and so kind, to speak up for me that way,’ Bilbo said. He nestled in close beside Bofur and kissed his cheek, brushing the tip of his nose against it softly. ‘I am _so_ glad I’ve got you.’

‘Mm. Want a puff?’ Rather than give him the stem of the pipe, Bofur kissed his lips and breathed the smoke into his mouth, wisps escaping and tickling his cheeks. ‘How _did_ it go, pet?’

Bilbo held the smoke a moment before letting it drift out and up toward the ceiling. ‘Much better than I was afraid it would. We may be a bit closer to an understanding. Thorin wants us to have a meeting tomorrow - the four of us, you too - so that we can talk about it properly.’

‘Ah. Should be fun for one and all,’ Bofur said wryly. He put a cork in the bowl of his pipe and laid it on the windowsill over the head of the bed before snuggling down beside Bilbo again, wrapping his arms around him, adjusting them carefully when Bilbo winced at pressure on his upper back. ‘D’you wish we hadn’t done it? With Nori?’

‘No... I had such a lovely time with the two of you, and I’d like to learn more about that sort of thing. Have you done much of it?’

‘A bit here and there. I’m not much for whacking or being whacked - I like watching and helping. Well, I like _watching,_ even when there’s no rough stuff going on.’ His warm fingers traced Bilbo’s face in the dark. ‘Seeing you panting and gurning and blushing...’

‘I don’t _gurn._ What a terrible word for it.’

‘Making your sweet funny faces then. When you’re feeling something that’s too big for your little body to hold, but you open up to it anyway. Well, I mean _feelings,_ not _things.’_

‘I open up to big _things_ quite nicely too. But thank you.’ Bilbo shifted his legs, lacing them between Bofur’s. ‘And I loved having you holding me - ooh, ow.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Sore tit. That’s better.’ He eased back from Bofur a bit. ‘Do you think it’s a bit mad that I _like_ feeling those twinges?’

‘No. They’re reminders, aren’t they? Just the way you feel twinges in your arse for a while after a really good fuck, and you go ow! but you smirk to yourself a bit, too.’

‘It was _such_ a good fuck.’ Bilbo grinned reminiscently in the dark, stretching out his toes. ‘I am a _lucky_ fellow.’

‘Aren’t you just!’

They slept deeply and sweetly, and began the day with a bath, scrubbing one another’s backs and washing one another’s hair. 

‘Here’s one of those moments that test whether someone really loves you,’ Bofur said. ‘Can you have a look at the top of my back and tell me, have I got a spot coming?’ He dragged the wet tail of his hair over his shoulder and presented his back to Bilbo’s inspection.

‘It’s not just coming,’ Bilbo said, peering. ‘I should say it’s already arrived. Would you like me to pop it?’

‘If you would. Ow!’

‘Hold still. I’ve nearly got it,’ he said, digging in with both thumbs. ‘My nails are too short.’

‘Ooh ah _ooh!’_

‘There! Pass me the flannel. That’s got it.’

‘Custard pie?’

‘It’s white. Like curd. Ugh! There we are, all clean.’ Bilbo slung the damp washcloth over the side of the bathtub and wiped his fingers on it fastidiously.

‘Thanks, pet. You didn’t mind that too much, did you?’

‘No, but I should put a drop of witch hazel on that if I were you.’

 

At the end of second breakfast, when Bilbo was collecting plates to take to the kitchen, Dwalin approached him. 

‘Hem. So. When you’ve finished here, can you bring him and meet us in the study?’

‘Right. Certainly. Yes.’ 

He dumped the dishes in the sink, washed his hands hastily, hung up his apron and found Bofur upstairs, talking to Bifur in a mixture of mumbled Dwarvish and gestures. 

‘I’m just explaining about us,’ Bofur said with a tone of bashful pride. He slung his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and beamed at Bifur.

Bifur gave Bilbo a sorrowful look, as if deeply regretting that he had such poor judgement as to fall in love with his cousin in addition to Thorin, and offered his hand for a shake. He made some gravelly remark and nodded to Bofur to interpret.

‘He wishes us every happiness,’ Bofur said, ‘and he says you’re lucky to have found yourself such a catch - all right,’ he said, as Bifur frowned, ‘just the part about happiness, then. And welcome to the family.’

‘My goodness,’ said Bilbo, quite floored by the last words. He found himself smiling until his cheeks ached. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’ He turned to Bofur. ‘Is there something I could say? What’s thank you in your language?’

‘It wouldn’t be right for you to say it,’ Bofur said, looking embarrassed. ‘We don’t really teach it to other people. He’ll still understand you.’

‘Thank you, Bifur.’ Bilbo squeezed Bifur’s large-knuckled hand in both of his. ‘I would be proud to be part of your family.’

‘Shall we tell Bom next?’ Bofur asked eagerly. ‘Don’t know why, but today feels like the day for telling people.’

‘All right, but after that there’s something we must do.’ He explained as they made their way back to the kitchen, where Bombur was vigorously kneading the day’s bread dough, his sleeves rolled up over great beefy forearms. He stopped pummelling the dough to listen to Bofur’s announcement, and at its conclusion uttered a wordless, excited squeak and seized Bofur around the middle, leaning back to swing his brother’s feet in the air. He dropped Bofur and grabbed Bilbo next, bouncing him on his mighty belly and astonishing him with his strength.

‘Oh, I, oh,’ Bombur said, and began to hiccup so hard that he was unable to speak. After some back-patting and the drinking of a glass of water from the wrong side, he composed himself and said in a rush, ‘My heartest congratulations to the pair of you and my every good wish for your health, wealth and happiness! Will you let me make you a cake?’

‘Yes, as many as you like,’ said Bilbo.

‘I’m so _pleased,’_ said Bombur, dabbing at his eyes with the backs of his wrists, as the only parts of his hands that were not floury, ‘because I’ve felt since our first evening at your house that you were a kindred spirit. And Bofur’s needed somebody - he’s _deserved_ somebody. So how nice that you want it to be you! Oh, Ma will be so glad! Will I write to her or will you? We should write before we go off to the mountain, when you’ve such good news.’

‘You’ve got nicer writing. We’ve got to go and see a man about a dog - you start a letter when you’ve done the bread, and I’ll read it and add my bits. Right?’ Bofur hugged his brother, high about the shoulders where his arms could easily wrap around him, and patted his back. They left Bombur happily kneading, his face shining with honest happiness, and walked down the hallway towards the study, hand in hand again

‘Will your mother mind?’ Bilbo asked. ‘My not being a dwarf?’

‘Oh, no. Ma’s very broad-minded. Her sister, my Auntie Et, married a Man. Ma’s the only one of the family that still talks to her. A hobbit’s got to be better than that, eh?’

‘Wouldn’t being married to a Man be terribly _uncomfortable?’_ Bilbo wondered. He thought kissing alone would be fraught with difficulty. Trying to make other parts fit together sounded most challenging.

‘He built her a house with steps up to everything. Called her his beardy beauty. Nearly jiggered his back till she told him to squat down to talk to her instead of bending over,’ Bofur said, smiling reminiscently. They had stopped just short of the study door. ‘Do I look all right for this?’

‘It’s only a talk,’ Bilbo said uncertainly. ‘I don’t think we need to look smart.’ He fiddled with Bofur’s frayed scarf and tried to arrange it more like a cravat.

‘Just trying to have a sense of occasion. You always look smart, though, you dapper little gent.’ He kissed Bilbo’s forehead.

‘For courage,’ Bilbo said, smiling and pulling on the flaps of Bofur’s hat. ‘Don’t be nervous. You’re the one who told me Thorin’s bad temper is all pride and worry.’

‘I still hope he’s in a good mood today,’ Bofur said. ‘I hope he’s positively giggly.’

The last word was just leaving his mouth as the door opened inward, pulled by Dwalin, looking at them with beetling brows. ‘You two planning to chat out here all day?’ he grunted.

‘No, right, yes,’ Bofur said, abashed but smiling. He grabbed Bilbo’s hand again and towed him into the study. Thorin was standing by the window, looking rather stern. He had evidently put some thought into the arrangements for this meeting. Either he or Dwalin had found four matching easy-chairs and arranged them around a low table. There was no clear head to the table, as if to say that they were all on an equal footing, though Thorin immediately took charge of proceedings by inviting them both to sit down. They sat, not feeling entirely at ease, and Dwalin sat himself next to Thorin, with his knees apart and his hands resting on them, looking as if he was ready to rear up at any moment.

‘Try to relax,’ Thorin said to him in an undertone, and Dwalin sat back a little and folded his arms across his chest. He still looked menacing, but then, Dwalin had been cultivating an air of menace for all of his adult life, and probably much of his childhood.

‘I thought we should have... a frank discussion,’ Thorin said carefully, ‘to determine the best way to conduct ourselves... or to conduct this...’ He made a vague circling gesture with one pointed finger to indicate all four of them, and Dwalin nodded.

‘May I say something?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Of course. You should say whatever you think.’

‘I, er, well, I must say that I don’t know at all how to conduct a thing like this. I feel very sure of myself cavorting about with a lot of sweet friends in bed, but - well, having never been in love before, having never even courted, I don’t know the first thing...’

‘Oh, I think you know the first thing,’ said Bofur cheerfully. ‘The second and third things, too.’ He leaned over and gave Bilbo’s knee a pat.

‘No, let him finish,’ said Thorin.

‘I don’t know the first thing about... being one of a couple, let alone one of a trio or a quartet or whatever this might be. You are all so much older than me, you probably know a good deal more than I do. Do you know of anybody else with an arrangement like this?’

‘Can’t say I do,’ said Bofur. Thorin shook his head.

‘Well,’ said Dwalin, ‘not just like this, because there was nobody involved saying they were in love with two people at once.’ He gave Bilbo a pointed look. ‘But a few years ago I was one of a group that shared. We planned who would be with who, and when. Not too difficult.’

‘Were any of you in love, though?’ Bilbo asked. This seemed important to him.

‘Two lads were,’ Dwalin said, shrugging one shoulder. ‘They used to like me to give them a good thrashing together. Both of them liked it, neither of them was that good at it himself.’

‘Oh, you do that too?’ Bofur asked, interested.

‘Well. Not - obviously, it’s not for _everyone,’_ Dwalin said, abruptly turning red and darting his eyes guiltily at Thorin.

‘Oh, I just thought it was interesting because you’re so gentle with Bilbo. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.’

‘I should say,’ Thorin put in, ‘that Dwalin and I love each other. We have for a very long time,’ he said in response to Bofur’s raised eyebrows, ‘but the circumstances were not right for us to act on it. We’ve decided now that we won’t wait any more. Circumstances will not change to suit _us._ And, if all goes well, we are considering marriage. Bilbo,’ he said quickly, seeing the hobbit’s face fall, ‘that will _not_ mean that I care any less for you or stop wanting you.’

Bilbo wanted very much to protest ‘But you said you loved me too!’ He bit the inside of his lip, knowing that to say it would hurt Dwalin very much - or make him very angry. He didn’t want any shouting or unpleasantness. 

‘Bilbo does really love you, though,’ Bofur said. ‘So that might be a bit difficult for him, seeing you marry someone else.’

Dwalin gave an impatient exhalation, not quite a snort. ‘Isn’t it “difficult” for you, hearing him claim to love you and someone else?’

Bofur shrugged. ‘Not really. All my life, anything worth having, I’ve had to share. Whether it was a bed or food or bathwater. I mean, you’ve got a brother. You shared your parents’ love, right? And I know sometimes you worry that they love him more or they’re not as pleased with you, and I know there are bad families where they _do_ love one kiddie more, but usually it works, right?’ His brows were knitted in earnestness and his face was growing pink. ‘And I know Bilbo really loves me. I, um, I feel it in my heart, I don’t care if that sounds silly or soppy. And I love him back, and I know he’ll always come back to me, so it’s all all right.’ He finished off with an emphatic nod, and patted Bilbo’s knee again, more firmly.

‘I believe you love him,’ Thorin said, nodding slowly, ‘and while his feelings puzzle me, I don’t doubt their sincerity. I think it could be possible to love two people, if they are as different as you and I.’ With great care, glancing over at Dwalin, he said, ‘Or as different as Dwalin and Bilbo.’

Bilbo breathed in sharply. Here he had thought Thorin wouldn’t allude to that at all, and he had been quite prepared to go along with that for the sake of Dwalin’s feelings. His own feelings were a mixture of relief that the subject had been broached (and not by himself) and worry that now the shouting and unpleasantness would begin.

Dwalin did not respond for a long moment, and Bofur looked curiously back and forth between him and Thorin, then over to Bilbo with a touch of concern.

‘What are you getting at there?’ Dwalin asked, slowly.

‘You _know_ that I love you, don’t you?’ Thorin asked.

‘Yes! That’s why I don’t believe it. You love me, not him.’ Dwalin was glowering, the muscles of his thick forearms visibly tense.

‘I’m suggesting that it need not be one or the other,’ Thorin said. ‘I can love him _too_ without loving you any the _less.’_

‘I won’t hear it,’ muttered Dwalin, looking away. ‘Not of you. I’ve known you all your life and you’re true as steel.’

‘Then why can you not believe me? I tell you, this is how I feel.’ Thorin rose from his chair and stepped over between Dwalin’s feet, placing his hands on his shoulders, bringing his forehead to rest against Dwalin’s. He murmured low, buzzing Dwarvish words, his voice polishing their sharp corners and rough edges. Bilbo felt envious, and anxious, and vaguely flustered. He glanced over to Bofur for reassurance, and received it in a warm look and a small nod.

Dwalin gave another long, slow exhalation through his nose and a rumbling grunt of acquiescence. ‘Still doesn’t sound right,’ he grumbled.

‘It still doesn’t sound right to _me,_ but I feel it,’ Thorin said quietly. ‘Will you bear with me? Give me the benefit of the doubt, at least for a while?’ Dwalin nodded slowly. ‘Thank you.’ He returned to his seat, but dragged the chair closer to Dwalin’s and sat holding his hand. ‘Thank _you_ for bearing with _us,’_ he added with a nod towards Bilbo and Bofur.

‘No trouble,’ said Bofur. ‘I was thinking, you know, about what you said,’ he went on, with a nod to Dwalin, ‘about planning who’d be with who, and when? D’you think that could be a good start for us? I mean, it’s up to Bilbo to decide who he wants to go to, but we should all talk to each other about it, I think, so we know what’s happening.’

Bilbo gave a little laugh.

‘Don’t like the idea?’ Bofur asked.

‘Oh, no, I think it’s very sensible! I was only thinking of my Engagement Tablet at home. It used to have things in it like “Four o’clock, Aunt Mirabella’s birthday tea” and “Ten o’clock, fitting for new trousers.” Imagine my new one!’

‘Ten o’clock, buggery?’ Bofur suggested, grinning.

‘Six o’clock, dinner and a spanking,’ Dwalin added, with a short bark of laughter directed into his own chest.

‘Need we plan everything, though?’ Bilbo asked. ‘Sometimes it’s so nice to just get carried away, wherever you are.’

‘No, no, but when we _do_ make a plan we’ll tell each other, that’s all.’

‘A good idea, I think,’ said Thorin. ‘It should prevent confusion... or hurt feelings.’

‘And we don’t want _those,’_ nodded Bofur.

‘And I can look at my tablet and see whether I’ve been spending a fair share of time with each of you,’ Bilbo added. ‘I shall try to find a suitable little notebook today.’ He found it very cheering to have something definite to do, and as simple as shopping for stationery. He could imagine just the thing, a little book just the right size for his inside top pocket, with a stamped leather cover in cherry-red and a ribbon marker and a little loop to hold a miniature pencil. Of course, the reason he could imagine it was that he had seen notebooks just like that for sale in the stationer’s shop in Hobbiton, in a basket on the counter when he went in to order more headed notepaper and visiting cards; he could only hope that something similar was available in these remote parts. He felt an odd pang of homesickness for his desk, with all its little pigeonholes and drawers for pencils, pens, pen-knives, ink, sealing-wax, wafers, blotting-paper, paper and cards and envelopes, and always a large vase of fresh flowers on the top.

‘Then would you - if you feel up to it - note an engagement for this evening?’ Thorin asked. He looked towards Dwalin, who nodded. ‘We would both enjoy your company.’ There was a slightly strained politeness to the question which Bilbo hoped would not always attach to making a date this way.

‘All right. Thank you. I’d enjoy that too. Shall we say seven?’

Thorin hesitated, then asked Bofur ‘Would you care to join us, too?’

‘Oh no,’ said Bofur cheerfully. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine. Could I bags tomorrow, though, pet? I thought we might go out to the island again, weather permitting.’

‘Yes, certainly. But don’t let’s plan any further ahead until I have a tablet, or I’ll start forgetting things.’

On the whole, he was very relieved. There were still matters not entirely resolved - he was not at all convinced that Dwalin was convinced by this shared-love notion, and _he_ was still doubtful about his rough handling of Thorin, but he was reluctant to dig any of that up when things seemed to be going well. He was glad, too, that Bofur didn’t feel any need to be included in tonight’s plan; much as he, Bilbo, loved him, he was not close to Thorin or Dwalin and they would feel constrained by his presence to behave as they thought they should, rather than enjoying themselves wholeheartedly.

 

He thought Ori was likely to be interested in a quest after stationery, and found he was quite right.

‘Oh yes! I need paper, and some red ink, and a gum-eraser, and I always end up finding half a dozen other things I want,’ Ori said. ‘Stationers’ shops are worse than sweet-shops that way. Everything looks so beautiful, lined up and perfect and new.’

They attracted some attention as they left the house, but it quickly faded as the crowd turned their attention back in case one of the more alluring dwarves should appear at a window. Bifur was still making occasional appearances upstairs to launch gliding birds over the spectators’ heads, and they were becoming prized souvenirs. Fili and Kili were also known to pop their heads out to chat and flirt. 

‘I suppose I’m just not as exciting as some people,’ Ori said wistfully as they made their way towards the shops, unfollowed except, temporarily, for a small boy with a hopeful look and a toy dog on a string leash. 

‘They are show-offs,’ Bilbo said fondly. 

‘Do you think my hair is grown-out enough to pull back?’ Ori asked, tugging at his fringe. It had grown a good deal, and he had developed a slightly disconcerting habit of suddenly jerking his head to shake it out of his eyes. ‘Dori’s starting to hint about giving me a hair-cut. He’s been cutting my hair the same way since I was tiny and I’m fed up with it, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I thought if I could just come down one morning with my hair in a proper style he’d see it looked better and accept it without a fuss.’

‘I’m no expert,’ Bilbo said, ‘but I should think you could do something with it. Why don’t you ask Nori to help you?’

‘I should,’ Ori said, nodding. ‘Half the reason for coming on this quest was to get to know him better, and I feel as if I hardly have, with Dori along.’ He gave a little sigh. ‘Which I suppose is the point, from Dori’s point of view.’

‘He does love you very much,’ Bilbo said. ‘But I imagine it feels a bit smothery at times.’

‘He’s tried a few times to do my hair like his, but he always ends up saying it’s like a horse’s tail and he can’t do a thing with it so we’d better just cut it back,’ Ori added. ‘Well, it’s not my fault I don’t have beautiful fine soft hair like him and Mum. Nori’s is more like mine, so I suppose he’ll know what to do with it. Oh, I think this shop sells books and tablets, we should try in here.’

Shopping in Lake-town was an odd experience. Technically they were not shopping at all, but going into shops and asking the proprietors to give them presents, all on the understanding that there would be payment above and beyond the worth of the goods once all was put right under the mountain. It made Bilbo feel rather guilty and nervous. Now that Ori had called his attention to it, he could not help noticing how he was treated as interesting and exciting, because he was a dwarf of Thorin’s Company, yet a bit of a second-rate one. Shopkeepers often asked them whether they thought some of the _others_ might be along later, and Ori patiently, politely, just very slightly wearily smiled and said that he wasn’t sure, but they might.

However, Bilbo managed to find just such a notebook as he had imagined, and Ori acquired, besides his ink, paper and rubber, an assortment of coloured chalks, a wooden pencil-box with a lid that slid back like a roll-top desk, a special grainy soap guaranteed to remove ink-stains from the fingers, and a particularly special poetic pen made from a swan’s feather. A baker gave them a bag of fresh, hot, sticky buns, and after examining them and deciding that a baker’s dozen was clearly not enough to share at home, they found their way down to a small, out-of-the way jetty and sat in the sunshine, swinging their feet over the rippling, softly rustling water and munching contentedly.

‘Is the book for your diary?’ Ori asked.

‘Er, yes, things I want to remember. It’s been so difficult to keep things safe on this journey - but I am thinking of writing it all out properly one day. Fortunately I’ve always had a fairly good memory, and I often find that writing out what I remember makes me remember more and more.’

‘It’s good that way, isn’t it? So many of my notes from early on have got lost or just soaked through, I’ve had to rewrite everything two or three times.’ Ori wiped his lips on the back of his hand, brushing crumbs from his uneven moustache. ‘It makes me wonder a bit... because I find myself telling the story a bit differently each time, trying to think of the best way to say it, so the readers can really imagine what it was like. So I wonder, am I _changing_ the story? Am I still telling the truth? And when I tell the story of things I didn’t see happen, things that other people have told me about, do I know they’re true? I don’t mean I think you could be lying, only that perhaps you don’t remember everything, or there were things you didn’t notice. It’s a very interesting problem.’

Bilbo twiddled his toes and dropped a bit of bun to a duck that was paddling about below. ‘I _did_ fib to you all before,’ he admitted, ‘about being lost under the mountain, and my ring.’

‘I know,’ said Ori, ‘but I understand you wanting that to be a secret. What a marvellous thing to have found! No wonder you wanted to keep it to yourself for a bit.’ He threw a pinch of bun to the duck’s friend, which had joined it expectantly. ‘I, um, I might as well tell you that I know the other secret too.’

Bilbo, who had just taken a large bite, felt his face heat up and the sweet dough in his mouth seemed to swell. He glanced sideways at Ori, who was also rather pink. ‘Whaf fecref?’ he managed to say.

‘About you and the others. All the... canoodling. I worked it out after a bit, and I was so embarrassed to have been so stupid about the presents. So I didn’t say anything. And of course Dori thinks I’ve no idea.’ He stuffed half a bun into his mouth and chewed vigorously.

Bilbo swallowed, with difficulty. ‘Well, um. I - I feel as if I should apologise.’

‘Whuffor?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I was assuming he was right and you did have no idea. I misjudged you. I’m sorry.’

‘Not your fault. Dori acts as if I’m a little kid, and I’ve got this face and stupid hair, so people think - well, I know I’m _young_ and I’m not _impressive_ like some people - things would be different if I were handsome, wouldn’t they?’

‘How do you mean?’ said Bilbo uneasily.

‘You might have invited me too,’ Ori said in a small voice.

_‘Oh.’_  

‘I was hoping that if I got away from Dori... as well as getting to know Nori, I could see if I could turn into someone who might possibly at some point have a chance at...’ Ori blushed more deeply and gestured vaguely. ‘Because I was sure that wouldn’t ever happen while I was living with him and everyone who ever saw me saw him treating me like a child. And then he decided to come along and keep an eye on me, so bang went _that_ dream.’

‘Oh, Ori, I am sorry.’

‘That nearly rhymes,’ Ori said with a half-smile.

‘May I jump backwards for a moment and say that I think there’s nothing wrong with your face? It’s a rather sweet face.’

‘I don’t really want to be sweet, though. D’you know who I wish I was like? Dwalin.’

‘I’d rather thought you were going to say Fili or Kili. Dwalin isn’t what most people would call handsome.’

‘You fancy him, though, don’t you?’

‘I fancy him like mad,’ Bilbo admitted, very readily.

‘There you are, then, I might be able to pull _that_ off - if I were a lot bigger and stronger.’

‘Perhaps you will one day, but you don’t have to. You’d be perfectly welcome to join us just as you are. There’s your invitation. Would you like to?’

‘Really?’ Ori asked, blinking in shock.

‘Of course. I like you. If you’re keen, and if you abide by the rules, I see no reason why not.’ He stopped, and corrected himself. ‘Well. Except that Dori would be absolutely furious with me.’

‘It’s hardly his business,’ Ori said, his face darkening. ‘Do you know, he knows every single thing I do? He’s always _there._ I want to do things he knows _nothing_ about. I want to have a private life of my own, and only tell him about if if _I_ feel like it.’

‘Oh, I know, and that’s quite fair, but Dori and I are friends. I - I’m sorry, on reflection it wouldn’t be right for me to - oh, but that’s not fair on _you.’_ He stopped and thought hard.

‘It’s all right,’ Ori said, pulling his bun apart and dropping pieces to the growing crowd of busily quacking ducks. ‘I don’t expect you to solve my problems.’

‘No, there _must_ be something we can do to make you happier. Let me see. You said you wanted to get to know Nori better. Have you done that, at least?’

‘A bit,’ Ori shrugged. ‘Not as much as I wanted to. Not with just us. It’s like I said, Dori’s always _there.’_

‘Well, I can easily help you with that. I’ll just spend some time with Dori, and keep him busy. You can go off with Nori and - talk about hair, or how to get your leg over, or whatever you want to talk to him about, without being interrupted. That will be no trouble at all.’

‘Would you really?’ 

‘Of course. And - pardon me if you’ve already tried this - but have you _told_ Dori about how you feel?’

‘That I want to get my leg over?’ Ori asked, looking rather shocked again.

‘Well, perhaps not in so many words, because I think he would faint dead away. But you see, he thinks he’s protecting you. It’s all because he wants you to have a good life and be happy, but perhaps he doesn’t realise he’s making you unhappy _now.’_

‘Well, it’s a bit much,’ Ori said. He threw the remaining chunk of bun out over the heads of the ducks. It splashed into the water and they raced for it. ‘Look at how far we’ve come, and all the dangers we’ve survived. Trolls. Goblins. Elves. Giant spiders. And look there.’ He waved across the lake, towards the looming mountain. ‘If we don’t go all the way there, we’ve gained nothing for our family. We may as well go back to the Blue Mountains with our tails between our legs. But if Dori wants to _protect_ me, then really, he shouldn’t let me leave here, should he? He can’t have it both ways. Protect me or let me face life for myself.’ He began to giggle. ‘Isn’t it silly? Giant spiders! A dragon! But I think he does worry more about my virtue!’

‘Oh, don’t let’s think of the dragon,’ Bilbo said, giggling and shuddering together. ‘I’d far rather think about threats to virtue.’

‘You haven’t got any virtue left to threaten, though, have you?’

‘Probably not. But it’s highly overrated, in my opinion. I greatly prefer being a happy little slut. I was only virtuous when I had no option.’

‘Gosh,’ said Ori, sounding half scandalised and half admiring.

‘I think you should tell Dori that whole thing that you said just now. You made a very good point.’

‘Ye-es, but...’ Ori scratched the side of his nose. ‘All that sounds very good for going off and facing danger, but before that I want to fix my hair up and possibly... you know. Which doesn’t sound as noble.’

‘I think a lot of people would like to you-know before facing danger,’ Bilbo said sympathetically. ‘I’m you-knowing as much as I can while I’ve got the chance.’

‘If... if I talked to Dori... do you think you might... well, could you think about it?’

‘Are you sure you’d like it to be me?’

‘Um. Yes.’ Very quickly, Ori darted over and kissed Bilbo on the cheek, before ducking back. ‘I, um, I think about you a lot.’

‘Then I will certainly think about it.’


	18. Mille-feuille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU'LL BE RELIEVED TO HEAR THAT THERE'S SOME FILTH IN THIS ONE.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated three ways - to hobbitdragon and Thaxted, who have become my friends in the course of writing this story and are just delightful people, and to my Pudding-predating friend bloss, who always has a special place in my heart.  
> Here, in the left ventricle.

[Editor’s note: ‘Mille-feuille’ has been substituted for the Elvish dessert ‘Leaves of Lorien,’ believed to have been similar. Elvish pastries were famously light, dainty and delicate, but no complete recipes survive and it is suspected that their flour was milled from a grain now extinct. What Bilbo and Dori baked was probably an inferior approximation of the original, served to them in Rivendell, but would still be considered a delicious treat by any person of taste.]

Bilbo managed to be as good as his word. On their return to the house, he set to work to make lunch, together with Dori, and as they beat eggs and grated cheese for omelettes, they began to plan a particularly lavish afternoon tea, which would occupy them for some hours. He felt both shifty, because of the subterfuge, and rather pleased with himself, because it would be no hardship whatsoever to spend the afternoon making fairy cakes, mille-feuille and cream puffs with Dori. They pottered about the kitchen chatting pleasantly, clopping along on the block-stilts Bofur had made, carefully measured to bring all three cooks up to a comfortable height for the kitchen worktops.

During lunch, he was pleased to observe Ori planting himself in the seat next to Nori, and talking to him earnestly. He could not hear what they said, but Nori nodded and laughed and patted his brother on the shoulder, so he thought things were going well. 

His conscience continued to prickle him from time to time during the afternoon, since Dori was clearly enjoying himself so much and suspected nothing. _I am not plotting something evil,_ he chided himself, _I am helping his little brother to get his hair done. Anything else is still entirely undecided - and for goodness’ sake, a fuck between friends wouldn’t be evil either._

Dori kept making little jokes and chuckling at them himself, and they were such ridiculously bad jokes, such crashing puns, that Bilbo could not help laughing at them too in sheer affection. Dori took to nudging him with his elbow or his hip when he was about to make a joke, as if to say ‘here it comes! be ready for it!’, which drove him to nudge back, and on one or two occasions they got into a small nudge-fight which ended in more giggling.

While Bilbo was bending over putting the cream puffs in the oven, he felt Dori pat him on the back, rather low on the back, and almost cracked his head on the edge of the stove. _Dori is flirting with me! Why on earth is Dori flirting with me? He’s supposed to be immune to my charm, or at least to disapprove of it!_

‘Are you all right?’ Dori asked, sounding concerned.

‘Burnt my finger,’ Bilbo said, sucking it for verisimilitude, then worrying that it looked suggestive. ‘Scuse me, I’m going to the loo.’ He hurried away and shut himself into the privy, where he raked his fingers into his hair and gave vent to a heartfelt ‘Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!’ before sitting down to reason with himself.

He had every right, he felt, to be exasperated and perplexed. All three brothers? Honestly! And this wasn’t simple, in the way that the very peculiar arrangements of the Durin family made it simple to carry on with both Fili and Kili and their uncle besides. He knew for a fact that Dori disapproved of multiple carryings-on. He strongly suspected that he would be deeply upset if Bilbo took up with Ori, particularly when he was already involved with Nori. Would Nori care? He didn’t think so, but it would be just like life if he turned out to be terribly vexed or simply hurt. _Why,_ feeling as he did, would Dori take it into his head to flirt with him? Was he perhaps not really aware of it? Was he only being friendly, while he, Bilbo, was misunderstanding? That last seemed the most likely. It only _felt_ flirty.

And on the whole, that was disappointing, he realised. Where he should have been relieved, he felt rather let down. _Simple vanity,_ he scolded himself. _Not_ every _dwarf in the blessed world is aching to tumble you. Pull yourself together, Bilbo Baggins. You have quite enough lovers to be going on with; how would you fit Dori into your little book?_  

 _But what if I flirted back?_ a defiant little Tookish voice answered. _I bet I could get him! Within an hour I could have him buttering his cock and fucking me on the kitchen floor!_

 _You stop that!_ the sensible Baggins voice replied. _You never thought of Dori like that until you thought he might fancy you._

_Your point being?_

_Well, we’re not doing it, anyway, because it would cause too much trouble. Deal with Ori first._

_All right, fair enough. Ori is awfully sweet._

Having composed himself and made his good resolutions, he returned to the kitchen in a much calmer frame of mind. 

‘Are you all right?’ Dori asked, looking up from his work. ‘Would you like some butter for your burn?’

‘Oh! No. Thank you.’

Two things were of note at afternoon tea; firstly, the excellence of the pastries, and secondly, the fact that Ori appeared with his hair most thoroughly _done._ Nori had not attempted anything so elaborate as his own triple quiffs, but had created a sort of braided crest down the middle of Ori’s head, the short ends of his fringe neatly tucked in and secured. It was not a drastic change, but it did make him look considerably more stylish, and Fili and Kili gave it a standing ovation when he entered the parlour. He blushed and beamed and scuffled his feet.

Dori, who was pouring the tea, went very still and would have disastrously overfilled Gloin’s cup if Gloin had not, with a delicacy rare in him, tilted the spout back up with one finger.

‘What d’you think?’ Nori asked, coming round behind and clapping Dori on the shoulder.

‘It’s a bit sophisticated, isn’t it?’ Dori said fretfully. He put down the teapot and sidled around the laden tea-table to examine Ori properly. 

‘I really like it,’ Ori said, still smiling, but half-defiantly.

‘Turn around?’ Dori said. He stood back, considering with his chin in his hand, as Ori shuffled around on the spot. ‘Well, it’s very smart. It’s not overdone.’ He peered closer, and his face softened. ‘Oh, you’ve kept your old ribbons.’ The end of the braid was bound with a worn and faded velvet ribbon, a sort of grey that might once have been lavender.

‘Of course I have,’ said Ori, frowning. ‘They’re lucky.’

‘You’d stopped wearing them, though. I’d thought they were lost, or thrown away.’

‘Of course not. I just... I’d gone off them for a while, but I thought it would be a good way to tie this.’ Ori passed his hand over his hair, self-consciously, fingertips cautiously feeling while trying not to disturb the arrangement.

‘You are a _good_ lad.’ Dori hugged his brother impulsively, knocking the wind out of him. 

‘Don’t ruffle my hair! Don’t ruffle my hair!’ Ori squeaked.

‘No, no no. Well now! Come and have a cake.’

Bilbo was left surprised and rather chuffed that it had gone over so well. Still, it was only a hairstyle, hardly a total rebellion. The use of the old ribbon seemed to be just the sweetener Dori had needed to accept it, and he made a mental note to compliment Ori on his cleverness.

There was no chance to do so until quite late in the afternoon, when he was pottering about on the house’s little rear jetty behind the kitchen door. There were potted herbs growing there, and it was a pleasure to water them and smell their fragrant leaves, even if he could not quite think himself back in his own well-stocked kitchen-garden. The sun was sinking and the light was dusty and golden. As he got up from pinching a few tiny weeds from the soil around the mint and dusted off his knees, Ori crept out through the kitchen door with exaggerated stealth.

‘Oh, hallo.’

‘I wanted to thank you,’ Ori said, beaming and coming close. ‘It was so much easier than I thought it would be, and Nori and I had a really good talk. And he was so encouraging and kind - he knows how overbearing Dori can be, and he said he’s sorry he wasn’t at home, and, um, well...’ He began to blush, the red rising up from his neck to his face. ‘And he says you go like a rocket.’

‘Oh!’ Bilbo felt his own ears and cheeks heat up, though his face broke out in a smile. ‘I hadn’t realised you’d discuss... well, what a nice testimonial.’

‘He, um, he said he thought you’d be perfect to start with.’

‘Did he, ah, did he go into detail?’ Bilbo faltered. 

‘Oh, no, he said it would be far more fun for me to discover for myself. And I wanted to tell you that I’m going to talk to Dori properly tonight. We’re all having a quiet night in, so there’s lots of time. And - you know, depending on how it goes, perhaps we, I mean you and me, would you want to, um...’ He trailed off, flushed and eager and nervous, his fingers plucking at each other. ‘Give it a go?’

‘Don’t let’s make any plans yet. See how your talk with Dori goes.’ Seeing Ori’s face fall a bit, he hastened to say, ‘I _would_ like to give it a go, but we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. If you _can_ square things with Dori so that you can go and do private things without him being upset, that will be wonderful. If you can’t, well, I’d have to think again. He _is_ my friend. Then, of course, so is Nori, and I’m glad he’s in favour.’

‘Two out of three,’ said Ori hopefully. ‘We’ve got Dori outvoted. Could - could I kiss you?’

‘Yes. Yes, you could.’ He tipped up his chin and closed his eyes, still smiling faintly. He felt Ori’s hand on his cheek, and then lips against his, extraordinarily soft, that little wisp of a moustache tickling delicately. He was rather startled to feel the other hand dip into his pocket, but only for a moment, pressing in what felt like folded paper.

‘I hope you like it. See you soon,’ Ori said, and hurried back into the house, leaving Bilbo blinking and surprised. He supposed, given how young Ori was, he might like the idea of a _clandestine_ affair quite as much as the idea of an affair in general, all snatched kisses and secret notes. He sat down on the edge of the jetty, drew the paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

Inside was a drawing, of himself, but quite different from the portrait Ori had so carefully drawn. Where that was formal and highly realistic, this was sketchy and a bit stylised, more rounded-looking and less detailed than would be quite lifelike. It showed him, Bilbo, with not a stitch on, sitting in a dish of cream puffs. Either the Bilbo in the drawing was very small or the dish was remarkably large, because the puffs were almost as big as he was. He was immersed to the waist in the creamy vanilla sauce that had been drizzled over the puffs after their tops were dipped in melted chocolate, and was coquettishly looking out at the viewer while licking the sauce off his fingers. Bilbo gave a long, low whistle. Clearly, Ori had hidden depths. 

 

Seven o’clock came, and Bilbo, dressed in his best, freshly washed and brushed, both head and foot, tapped at the door of Thorin’s bedroom. 

‘Who’s there?’ It was Thorin’s voice, quiet, but with a certain suppressed excitement.

‘It’s Bilbo.’

‘All clear?’

He glanced up and down the corridor; nobody about. ‘Yes.’

‘Come in.’ The door swung inward, not far, and he stepped through. 

The first thing he could see was Dwalin, sitting by the fire in the armchair. Another had been brought up from somewhere and placed facing his. Between the chairs was a small table set out with food, cold meats, cheese and bread, while bottles and glasses stood on another. Dwalin looked exceedingly comfortable, his feet crossed on a low stool and a glass of brandy cradled in one large hand. He nodded affably to Bilbo. Across the room, the bed was freshly made up, its covers turned down to show spotless, smooth white sheets. He turned to find Thorin beside him, his hand still on the doorknob, ensuring the bolt was fastened. 

‘My goodness,’ Bilbo said, his eyes widening in appreciation. Thorin was naked except, for some reason, for an apron of plain linen. His hair was loose, without braids or decorations, hanging in dark ripples around his face and over his shoulders, and his feet were bare, soft and quiet on the smooth floorboards, rather small and dainty-looking to Bilbo. 

‘He’s not bad, is he?’ Dwalin asked casually. ‘For a servant. I’ll admit I picked him for his looks.’

‘May I take your coat, sir?’ Thorin asked.

‘What’s the game?’ Bilbo whispered to him as he helped him out of it.

‘You’re the guest of the great Dwarf-Lord Dwalin,’ Thorin whispered, ‘and I will be serving you both.’

‘Lucky us,’ Bilbo whispered, before reflecting that the guest of a great Dwarf-Lord should probably not be too familiar with the staff. ‘Thank you,’ he said, more distantly, and went over to sit in the other armchair. 

‘Welcome to my hall, Mister Baggins,’ Dwalin said. ‘At your service.’ He just inclined his head, rather than getting up and bowing.

‘At yours and your family’s.’ Bilbo sat himself down, deciding that he wasn’t going to bow either. ‘At your service’ was a polite nothing in this situation, particularly as Thorin was the one actually serving.

‘When we first said that to one another,’ Dwalin went on, ‘I’ll admit, I thought you were a feeble little squirt.’

‘Why, thank you. I thought you were a hulking brute.’

‘Covering yourself up with your cissy little dressing-gown, all prim and fussy.’

‘Looming in my doorway like a bear,’ Bilbo smiled. ‘I quite regret how frightened I was of you; think of the nice time we could have had before your brother arrived.’

‘Oh, you’d have made me welcome, would you?’

‘That’s true hospitality, isn’t it? At the very least I could have sucked you off while you gobbled all my dinner.’ 

‘Very true. Thorin, are you catching flies? Get this gentleman a drink.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Thorin bent beside Bilbo. ‘What will you have, sir? We can offer you red wine, white wine, brandy...’

‘Red wine, please.’

‘At once.’ Thorin filled a glass and passed it over with a bow from the waist. 

‘Bow deeper and turn your back to me when you do that,’ Dwalin said.

Thorin closed his eyes a moment, pressing his lips together between his teeth, and turned to present his hindquarters to Dwalin’s view. 

‘Now turn and give my guest a good look.’ Thorin shuffled around, still bent forward. ‘What d’you think?’ Dwalin asked, grinning. 

‘It’s quite lovely,’ Bilbo said, truthfully. ‘Are the bite marks all your own work?’ The bruises on his own bottom ached a bit in sympathy.

Dwalin nodded. ‘Had to be firm with him at first.’

Bilbo reached out and stroked Thorin’s buttock, rubbing a little circle with his thumb. ‘Did he give you trouble?’ He could feel Thorin’s muscles tense, twitching slightly when he pressed, and hear his hushed intake of breath.

‘Not for long.’ There was a quiet satisfaction in Dwalin’s voice. ‘He’s eager enough to please now.’ He snapped his fingers and Thorin hurried over to him. ‘Tell the truth, now,’ he said, sliding one hand up and down the back of Thorin’s thigh. 

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Did you like him touching you?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Thorin’s head hung forward a little, his thick rippling hair screening his face. 

‘Good. I’ll have something to eat now.’ Dwalin pinched the inside of Thorin’s thigh and dropped his hand. 

Moving a little stiffly, his face flushed, Thorin served them both, sitting cross-legged on a cushion at Dwalin’s feet as they ate. 

‘Where did you find him?’ Bilbo asked, enjoying a sharp wedge of cheese.

‘Wasting my time in a smithy,’ Dwalin grunted, his mouth half-full. ‘Botched a job, and I gave him the chance to make it up to me.’ He reached over and rumpled Thorin’s hair with one hand. ‘I liked the noises he made.’

‘Did you bend him over his anvil?’ Bilbo could see Thorin’s cheeks grew redder, and a dark flicker passed through his eyes. Interesting, he thought, that he’d clearly told Dwalin about their game.

‘Eventually. Begged to suck me first.’ His hand kept moving in Thorin’s hair, winding it around his fingers. ‘Started to wonder if he’d blunted my axe just to get an excuse to do it. Too proud to just ask, were you?’ He gave Thorin’s head a gentle shake.

‘Or perhaps too humble,’ Bilbo suggested. ‘More, please.’ He held up his plate, empty but for crumbs.

‘Go on,’ said Dwalin, releasing Thorin’s hair and giving him a little push. He got to his feet and moved quickly to the table. Now that he was standing, it was clearly visible that his cock was pushing out a peak in the linen of his apron. ‘You’ll observe,’ Dwalin said dryly, ‘that he’s half-hard just hearing us talk about him. You watch, he’ll turn red, just as if he doesn’t love every second of it. Don’t you, lad?’ He lifted one foot from his stool and gave Thorin’s bottom a push, making him stumble slightly. 

‘Yes, my lord,’ Thorin mumbled, catching himself with one hand against the edge of the table.

‘Tell us. I want my guest to know just what you are.’

‘I... I love hearing you talk about me, and what it was like to fuck me, because I’m, I’m a whore.’

‘That’s right. Very good. You’re a shameless little whore.’ Dwalin pronounced it ‘hoor,’ with relish.

‘May I have your plate, sir?’ Thorin asked Bilbo. His cheeks were crimson now, and though he kept his head down as if abashed, his eyes were darkly dilated in a very familiar way.

‘You certainly may - and I’ll have another glass of that excellent red, if you please.’ As Thorin piled the plate and poured the wine, he leaned back in his seat and added ‘I must compliment you, Master Dwalin, on your eye for both beauty and utility. He looks a strong rascal.’

‘Strong enough. D’you want a go? He’ll suck you like a sweetie if I give the word. And mind - that’s me giving permission, not an order.’

‘Yes, please.’ Bilbo balanced his plate on the arm of the chair, which was conveniently broad and flat, and spread his knees apart.

‘Right, lad. On your knees, and your top lip has to touch his belly before you’re done.’

‘Yes, my lord. Thank you, sir.’ Thorin knelt before Bilbo’s chair, looking up at him with a face all shame and desire and poorly-masked delight. ‘It’s my honour to serve and please you.’

‘Go on, then.’ Bilbo curled his toes in anticipation as Thorin nuzzled against the front of his trousers, finding the soft shaft of his cock and rubbing with nose and lips through the sturdy fabric. He felt a lovely wash of warmth as it began to thicken, and sipped his wine, feeling its matching warmth spread down his throat and through his chest. He combed his fingers into Thorin’s hair, stroking it back from his brow, quietly sighing. Thorin glanced up at him from under his brows and set to work on his fly-buttons, kissing the space opened as each one parted from its hole.

Dwalin was watching them with a wry smile, casually stroking himself through his trousers. Bilbo tipped his glass towards him, feeling that they had achieved a cautious peace. Oh, how ticklish Thorin’s lips were through the soft cotton of his drawers!

‘Don’t mess about,’ he breathed. ‘Get it out.’

‘Yes...’ Thorin drew him out, still just kissing and nuzzling, reminding him of an affectionate cat. It was _good_ nuzzling, sweet nuzzling, from tender lips and a fine aristocratic nose, but it was making him twitch with impatience even while his prick stiffened and stood. Thorin was uttering little husky ‘mmmhh’ sounds, mouthing his way around the root, sniffing deeply.

‘Oh, do you like the smell of it?’

‘Mmmm... smell, taste...’ Thorin turned his gaze up at Bilbo again as he began to lick up the shaft.

‘So... you’ve found your vocation, really. You can be a - a cocksmith.’ A fizz of giggles burst through his nose and he squirmed delightedly. ‘A master cocksmith... no hammer, all tongue... oh... oh, you do have the sweetest eyes. They’re as blue as the sky.’

‘Forget-me-nots,’ Dwalin grunted, and shrugged when Bilbo looked his way. ‘Suck him, lad, before he gets bored.’ That got Bilbo enveloped in wet, pulling warmth, gasping, his hips quivering and his bottom twitching. Thorin still stared up at him, his eyes so deep and loving and serious, steady even while he rocked back and forth, swallowing him a little more deeply on each stroke.  He could feel the tight back of Thorin’s mouth, twitching resistance against the head of his cock, a kind of gurgling cough as Thorin forced it through, sinking down to press his nose against Bilbo’s tummy. Thorin was swallowing repeatedly, breathing harshly, and the squeezing, slick sensation on the head of his cock was both delicious and a little alarming. He realised he had spilled his wine down the side of the chair and was clutching both arms so tightly that his nails ached.

‘Oh... oh that’s so lovely... but don’t... don’t hurt yourself... _oh...’_

Dwalin rose from his seat, kicking his footstool carelessly to one side, and came over, planting his hand in Thorin’s hair and grasping a fistful. ‘You’ll not hurt him,’ he rumbled. ‘He loves it.’ He slowly dragged Thorin’s head back, his lips stretched and cheeks hollowed as he sucked, then pushed him down steadily, driving a choking grunt out of him. Thorin clutched at Bilbo’s thighs, his eyes squeezing tightly closed. ‘My little whore will swallow you whole. The only reward he’ll ask for is your spunk on his face. Fuck his throat.’

‘I - ah -’ Bilbo floundered a moment, but Thorin was looking up at him again, his eyes beseeching, and he risked a little thrust, feeling Thorin groan fractionally before he heard it.

‘Just like that. Fuck him. Choke him with your chubby little cock. Make his mouth a cunt.’

‘Oh - there’s - such _language!’_ Thorin was moaning so eagerly, though, and his hips were shaking with the effort of _not_ thrusting. He gave in and pumped, shallow strokes, drawing his knees up so that he could brace his feet against the chair, gasping and grunting with the pleasure of it. He wasn’t really listening to Dwalin any more, but he caught little snatches of humiliation, degradation, whore, slut, pig, until he was really quite indignant on Thorin’s behalf and would certainly say something about it in just a moment more, just a moment more, just a moment, until his tension and cries must have given him away. Thorin jerked back, coughing, and caught the warm white spatters on his sweating face, in his gasping mouth, white on brick-red and rose-pink. Moaning weakly, he slumped down against the front of the chair. 

‘Oh... oh, thank you... thank you, _dear...’_ Bilbo breathed. He reached down to stroke Thorin’s hair, and they had a moment’s giddy, blissful peace before Dwalin’s hand tightened and he jerked Thorin’s head up.

‘Right,’ he growled. ‘Your master now.’ He jerked again, yanking Thorin to his feet, forcing him up with the pain in his scalp. Bilbo winced, but held his tongue. Thorin’s cock was a peak in the front of the apron, the linen soaked through around the head, shaking and bouncing as Dwalin pulled him up. He boldly slung his arms around Dwalin’s shoulders and kissed him, whimpering as the kiss was met with force, hard lips grinding against his and prodding tongue delving into his mouth. His tongue was still hanging out as Dwalin tugged him back and glared into his face, and he panted openly, strands of saliva and come trailing from his lips and beard.

‘What d’you say?’ Dwalin demanded. 

‘I love you. Oh, I love you so!’

‘Who do you belong to?’

‘I belong to you.’

‘Right.’ Still clutching Thorin’s hair, Dwalin ripped the cloth from the table, scattering and spilling food and drink, and pushed him down onto it, onto his back, tugging at the front of his own breeches. 

‘Just a moment,’ Bilbo panted. He half fell out of his chair, seized a little crock of butter that was spinning to a stop on the floor and offered it to Dwalin.

‘Thanks,’ Dwalin grunted. He gave Thorin’s hip a slap. ‘You see that? The guest is doing your work.’ He flipped the skirt of the apron up over Thorin’s chest, exposing his upthrust red cock. It looked as if something were bound about the base of it and around his balls too, a constricting dark band. Obediently, Thorin spread and raised his legs, grasping behind his knees, and Dwalin stroked melting butter into his cleft with his thick middle finger. ‘You lazy little slut. I’ll fuck some manners into you.’

‘Please... oh...’ 

‘Please what?’

 _‘Please_ fuck me, my lord.’ Thorin looked desperate, red-faced, biting his lip, the roots of his hair soaked with sweat and Bilbo’s creamy leavings. 

‘You’ll wait till I’m ready. And you’re ready too. D’you think I want to ruin this arse for good?’ Another sharp slap against an upturned buttock, a buttery handprint glowing on the pale flesh. 

‘No, my lord.’

‘There, now. Take this and be grateful.’ One stout finger slid into Thorin’s body, and he gasped hoarsely.

‘It’s all right,’ Bilbo said. Standing by the table, he took Thorin’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I know he’ll take good care of you, and I’m right here too.’

‘Oh... oh...’ Thorin turned his head and licked Bilbo’s fingers, nudging them into his own mouth to suck. 

‘Give him your cock again as soon as you’re ready,’ Dwalin said. He was working his finger briskly in and out. ‘Tight little sod. Needs much more fucking. Always the way with the new ones. Don’t want ‘em... broken in to someone else’s ways. Ah! Good. Try two for size.’ He nodded towards Bilbo. ‘If he bites you, slap him. Only way he learns when he’s like this.’

‘I think _you_ ought to be slapped - this is a shocking waste of food,’ Bilbo pointed out, flapping his hand at the mess on the floor. Dwalin only grinned at him and screwed his fingers around and in, making Thorin yelp and whimper ecstatically. ‘Thorin, dear,’ he said, ‘you are _so_ beautiful, especially like this.’

‘Hear that? You look your best red-faced and squirming, with your arse stretched open and come on your face,’ Dwalin added.

‘You look beautiful when you’re passionate,’ Bilbo assured him, and stroked Thorin’s hair back from his sticky cheek as he suckled the fingers of his other hand. 

‘Same thing,’ Dwalin said, sounding very amused. Bilbo could hear his fingers pumping in Thorin’s ring, a slippery, squelching sound, and see the shivers running through Thorin’s body in response. 

‘All right, it’s a bit the same,’ Bilbo admitted, smiling despite his slight anxiety and bending to kiss Thorin’s cheek. ‘You’re just lovely,’ he whispered in his ear. ‘Would you like me to say that? Or would you like to hear some rude things like Dwalin says?’ Thorin moaned and sucked his fingers hard. ‘I take it that’s a yes. Oh, I ran out of ideas back at “cocksmith,” but I’ll try for you. Dear, sweet little slut. You need this, don’t you? The only way you could be happier would be to have the whole company fuck you.’

‘What did you say, Mr Baggins? He squeezed so hard he nearly bent my finger,’ Dwalin chuckled.

‘None of your beeswax,’ Bilbo answered. He turned Thorin’s head gently with both hands and kissed him, stroking the arch of his mouth with his tongue, teasing the ticklish place behind and above the front teeth. Resting their foreheads together, he whispered again, feeling the hot, damp gusts of Thorin’s breathing against his lips. ‘I know how you’ll pay for our keep here, when singing for your supper isn’t enough any more. Just imagine all those Men lining up for you. How big must their cocks be? D’you think you can take them?’

‘Keep going, whatever it is,’ Dwalin added.

‘The first one will hurt, of course. Like Dwalin. But you love that, don’t you? Dwalin will hold you, so you don’t forget yourself and start fighting. His big, hard arms around you, and a stranger’s cock prying your arse open. Roll up, roll up, come one, come all. A once in a lifetime chance to fuck a real king. Our own little King Under the Mountain.’ Thorin grunted and grabbed Bilbo’s sleeve with one hand as Dwalin inched his cock into him. His fingers twisted and wrung the linen, pulling it achingly tight around Bilbo’s plump arm. 

‘After the first one, it gets easier, because you’re looser, and wetter. Do you think you came for the first one?’

‘Aah!’ Thorin’s teeth flashed white, a kind of grin of pain and joy.

‘I think they had a lottery to see who would fuck you first. Your arse was the prize. Second prize is your mouth. It’s free to stand around and watch. Imagine them all, watching you, one cock stuffing your arse and another one, you’re sucking him, you can’t stop yourself. You can hear all those hands sliding and slapping on big, fat, hard cocks, and you don’t know which one’s going to take you next.’ He felt Dwalin’s first deep thrust shudder through Thorin’s body. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Thorin breathed. 

‘I love you,’ Bilbo whispered, and kissed him deeply. ‘Here comes the next one. He’s going to turn you over. Your bumhole’s stretched open and it’s leaking all sticky and stringy, over your balls and down your legs. How does that feel?’ Thorin’s only answer was a hissing intake of breath. Dwalin was pumping briskly now and the table’s feet were juddering and thumping on the hearthrug. ‘Here’s another... and another... it’s easy now... they just slide in, you’re so loose and sloppy... all you are and all you want is to be fucked and fucked and fucked.’

‘Oh! Please!’ Thorin arched and twisted, bucking his hips sharply against Dwalin’s. Dwalin was fumbling with the strap around his cock, loosening it. ‘Please, no, leave it...’

‘You’ve had it on long enough. Don’t be stupid, now. Your ballsack was looking like a plum.’ Dwalin tugged it free and threw it aside. ‘Bilbo, you ready to fuck his mouth again?’

‘Yes, but how?’

‘Here.’ Dwalin lifted Thorin’s rump and gave him a shove forwards, his head falling back over the edge of the table and his mouth falling open in a shocked gasp. ‘Give it to him, don’t be shy. Grab his hair, both hands.’

‘Like this?’ As Bilbo’s cock bobbed near his face, Thorin was mouthing at it, trying to catch the head, reaching for it with his tongue. 

‘Just like that! Stick it in and fuck for the Shire!’

It was easier this time, whether because it was the second time or because Thorin’s head was tipped back. His hands groped up and back, reaching around to grasp Bilbo’s hips, his trousers sliding down around his knees as he thrust. His throat bulged as he gulped and swallowed, and Bilbo’s legs shook with the pleasure of it. 

‘Oh! Oh Thorin!’ He was ashamed to do it this way, he felt he was being entirely too rough, but he was beside himself and Thorin was coming, spattering his own belly and chest, his cries thoroughly muffled by Bilbo’s cock.

‘Now give it to him on his face,’ Dwalin ordered, still ploughing.

On rubber legs, Bilbo eased himself back and gripped his prick, squeezing and rubbing it rapidly, panting as his tight-ringed fingers slid on Thorin’s thick saliva, screwing his face up in ecstasy as glorious hot spasms rushed through him and pearly gobbets slapped onto Thorin’s gasping face. 

‘And me,’ Dwalin grunted, leaning forward and thrusting so forcefully that the table jounced into Bilbo and knocked him back onto his bottom. He sat dazedly watching Thorin’s head and shoulders bounce above him, his hair sweeping the floor, his face crimson and distorted by joy, until the pounding stopped and Dwalin’s grunts were stilled. There was peace, except for heavy, wood-saw breathing, and Thorin whimpering faintly. 

Bilbo clambered to his feet and tried to lift Thorin’s head in his arms. Dwalin was folded over him, palms splayed on the tabletop, head on Thorin’s chest. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh... oh yes... just... yes.’ Thorin rubbed the top of his head awkwardly against Bilbo’s body. ‘Oh, my darlings...’

Dwalin lifted his head and kissed Thorin’s skin, a smear of white on his cheek. ‘That good?’

‘Exactly what I need. Will you be gentle with me the rest of the night?’

‘Gentle as you like.’


	19. Tea and a Biscuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a little fragment that would have been at the end of the previous one, if I hadn't been tired.

Bilbo woke nestled between Thorin and Dwalin, feeling utterly warm, secure and contented. A big, warm, densely-haired chest and belly at his back and another at his front, Thorin’s hand on his chest, Dwalin’s morning erection brushing against his tummy, and the softly rumbling sound of their breathing all seemed to coccoon and protect him. Dwalin did not quite snore, but his broken nose added a buzz to his deeper breathing in sleep. Thorin’s breathing was soft against the back of his head. He felt rather sweaty, in between them with a thick quilt over them, but not nearly so much as to want to climb out.

After the vigour and intensity of the master and servant game, Thorin had been quite worn out. His role as servant had been abandoned, under the circumstances, and Dwalin had carried him to bed. Bilbo, who could not leave a mess unattended, tidied up the strewn food as best he could before joining them.

They were lying together in the middle of the bed, Thorin curled up on his side and Dwalin stretched out on his hip beside him, one arm around his shoulders and the other hand stroking his hair. Bilbo felt quite comforted by that himself. He knew Dwalin _could_ be gentle, and it pleased him to see that he extended that to Thorin, as a sort of balance for his roughness. He clambered up on the bed and snuggled up to Thorin’s back.

‘All right?’ he asked, wrapping an arm around Thorin’s waist.

‘Mmm.’ Thorin looked back over his shoulder, giving him a soft smile.

‘Back here,’ Dwalin said, nudging Thorin’s chin back towards him. ‘You’re a mess.’ With the side of one broad forefinger, he scraped a streak of come from Thorin’s cheek and presented it to his mouth. ‘Lick. That’s it. Sup up, it’s good for you.’

Thorin laughed softly, releasing Dwalin’s finger from his sucking lips. ‘Will it make me grow big and strong?’

‘It already has. Here’s some more. There now. Nice?’

‘Mmm. Will you feed it all to me?’

‘All I can find.’

‘You should taste it.’

‘Oh, aye?’ Dwalin leant in and kissed Thorin deeply and softly, sweeping his tongue over his lower lip, sucking creamy traces from his moustache. ‘Hobbit’s different.’

‘I think it’s sweeter.’

‘What was he whispering to you?’

‘Filthy things. He’s a filthmonger.’

Dwalin reached over Thorin’s side to rumple Bilbo’s hair and stroke the back of his head and neck. He gave his ear an affectionate tweak before sliding his hand back to Thorin. ‘Whatever it was, it did the trick.’

Bilbo smiled, pressing his cheek against Thorin’s back. ‘Shall I help you off with your apron?’ he asked.

‘Ah - if you could untie me. Thank you.’

‘It’s just a bit messy - but then an apron’s purpose is to catch messes.’

‘Here.’ Dwalin pulled the yoke of the apron over Thorin’s head, crumpled it softly together and used it to mop his face and belly clean before tossing it to the floor. ‘That’s better. You looked like an iced bun.’

‘A badly iced bun,’ Bilbo added. ‘All blobby and streaky.’ He squeezed Thorin’s middle. ‘I wouldn’t offer one to company looking like that. But I’m glad Dwalin shared you with _me.’_

‘And _I’m_ glad to be lying here between you,’ Thorin said, ‘feeling so well fucked.’ He cleared his throat. ‘At both ends.’ He gave a soft little chuckle.

‘What’s the joke?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Oh, I just remembered you telling Dwalin he looked like a bear in your doorway. I almost laughed and spoiled things, because I called him my bear years ago. That, or my war-pony.’ He stroked the top of Dwalin’s head. ‘In those days he had a great gorgeous crest of hair, like a stiff, thick mane. It made him look half a head taller. No mane any more, but now you have these beautiful tattoos, and I couldn’t choose which I like better.’

‘A bald bear?’ Dwalin asked, diffidently.

‘Still my bear. And a lucky bugger am I, with my bear and my bunny.’

‘Bunny,’ Dwalin mused, smiling over Thorin’s shoulder at a slightly embarrassed Bilbo. ‘I like that.’

‘Er, did they hurt a lot?’ Bilbo asked, trying to change the subject. ‘On your head.’

Dwalin grunted in the affirmative. ‘The closer to the bone, the more it’ll hurt.’

‘Then a place like the small of the back shouldn’t hurt _too_ much. I have a little padding there.’

‘You’re getting tattooed?’

‘Ori designed a sort of mark for me - a mark just for a hobbit, not a copy of a dwarf one. Oin’s gong to find the materials and practise drawing it. Two capital Bs, back to back, inside a circle like my front door. What do you think?’

‘I think you’ll fuss and squirm,’ Dwalin said, ‘but you’ll stick it out.’

‘I _mean_ do you think it will look nice?’

‘It will look perfect,’ Thorin said, rolling over with a grunt and wrapping his arms around Bilbo. ‘The bravest and fiercest rabbit of them all. The valiant rabbit who stood before terrible foes and defied them. The slayer of spiders and rider of barrels.’ He pressed a soft wet kiss into the fold between Bilbo’s neck and shoulder.

‘I might tell people I’m a slayer of spiders and a rider of barrels,’ Bilbo said, mollified, ‘but I don’t think I’ll announce myself as a rabbit.’

‘Don’t. Be my bunny just in private.’ Thorin nuzzled into that soft fold again, and Bilbo felt ridiculously warmed and comforted to be called by that silly name.

‘I did wonder... I can see that you absolutely _love_ being fucked, and I don’t blame you... but would you still like to fuck me?’

‘Of course. Didn’t I say I would?’

‘Oh _good.’_ He wriggled his bottom into Thorin’s lap.

‘Once I’ve recovered a little, I’ll fuck you to your heart’s content, and your arsehole’s.’ Thorin patted his hip.

‘Lovely.’ He wriggled again, but Thorin’s cock was still clearly resting. ‘May I ask something?’

‘Ask away.’

‘What was that little thingie you had around your cock? That Dwalin took off?’

‘Haven’t you ever seen one before?’

‘Clearly not.’ Bilbo felt a bit miffed; it wasn’t as if he had had the opportunity to learn anything sophisticated before he took up with this lot.

‘We call it a cock-ring. There are various sorts - that was just a leather band. I like metal ones, but we haven’t any just now. You put it round the base of your cock, and under your balls if you like. Then when you get hard, it holds the blood in your cock.’

‘And why do you do that, if it’s not an impertinent question?’

‘It can help you to stay hard if you have trouble with that, and to last longer if you tend to come too quickly. I just do it because I like the pressure. Makes everything stronger.’

‘I like the idea of lasting longer!’ Bilbo exclaimed. ‘I always have trouble with that when I’m on top.’

‘Within limits,’ Dwalin said, his voice gravelly as if rousing himself from a doze. ‘Can’t leave it on too long or you’ll do yourself a mischief. Keep it under half an hour... this one would forget if I didn’t remind him.’

‘I’ll help you try it another time,’ Thorin said. ‘You’ll like it.’

‘May I ask you something else, and don’t laugh?’

‘Hrmph.’

_‘Don’t_ laugh. What is the right name for when another fellow licks you and kisses you in the backside?’

‘He’s rimming you. Rimming. Who’s been doing that to you? Naughty Bofur.’

‘Is it? Well, there’s nothing the matter with it, is there?’

‘No, but you should wash yourself first.’

‘There’s another “thingie” you can use to squirt some warm water up your arse and clean the inside, but we haven’t got one of those either,’ Dwalin said. ‘Did you like it?’

_‘Very_ much.’

‘Good.’

‘We’ll have everything we need... one day...’ Thorin murmured.

‘Even a thingie?’ Bilbo asked, amused.

‘A golden thingie.’

‘Gold? Up the bottom? Is that quite proper?’

‘It is if I deem it proper. A touch of luxury in the king’s chambers. A silky, clean, pink arse to squeeze and finger and fuck. Warm and flushed, just out of the bath... coming to me in my bed. Yes. Good.’ He kissed Bilbo’s nape, making him wriggle his shoulders and crinkle his nose in delight.

‘Sounds lovely. A kingdom of debauchery.’

‘Just behind closed doors.’ Thorin slid his hands down to Bilbo’s tummy, stroking its soft curve. ‘My little pudding.’ He pushed forward a little with his hips, letting him feel his cock beginning to shift and stir.

‘Is that Thorin at my service?’

‘Mm. And I can feel Dwalin at mine. Lucky, lucky me.’ Thorin began to rock his hips steadily, his growing erection brushing Bilbo’s buttocks, one hand sliding down to cup Bilbo’s balls. ‘I am about to exercise my prerogative, and my greed. I want you both at once. To be inside Bilbo, with Dwalin inside me.’

Bilbo heard a low, rumbling sigh from Dwalin, and felt his arms wrap around Thorin, slippng between them. ‘Little whore. I’ll get the oil.’ He let go and the bed creaked softly, his weight shifting as he twisted at the waist and reached back to the bedside table.

‘I may not need much. I still feel buttery.’

‘Hold still.’ Bilbo felt Dwalin’s hands between them again, coating Thorin’s warm erection as it rose and swelled to its fullest. There were Thorin’s fingers too, sharing the oil, prying in between his buttocks to work at his ring so that it twitched and winked. He twisted to look back over his shoulder and found them kissing, Thorin’s head tilted and tipped back, Dwalin’s great paw caressing the softness of his throat. Their mouths were open, their tongues pink and shining wet as they stroked together, and the sight gave him a surging, twisting feeling down in his belly and at the root of his cock.

‘Who goes first?’ Dwalin asked, drawing back, though he kept his hand at Thorin’s throat, pressing lightly and stroking up and down. ‘Want me to get it in before you put it to him?’

‘I want to feel how Thorin goes when you do it,’ Bilbo said, ‘so could I have him first, please?’

‘Right you are,’ Dwalin said, releasing Thorin. ‘Put it in and be sure you please my guest.’

‘My guest too,’ Thorin murmured. He pressed his fingers more firmly against Bilbo’s ring, and it began to yield. ‘Good, Bilbo?’

‘Oh... oh yes...’ The middle finger slipped in up to its first knuckle, and twitches of pleasure rolled through him. ‘Oh, I love that, I do!’

‘Deeper?’

_‘Please._ Oh... ohh...’

‘One thing I especially like about you...’ Thorin murmured, flexing his finger. ‘You’re very, very responsive.’

‘You try not responding when things like this are happening in your bottom. Ooh... you can pop it in any time you like now.’ He lifted one leg, and Thorin drew his hand back to run up its thigh and support it behind the knee.

‘Are you sure? That was only one finger.’

‘I don’t want to wait. Ooh, yes, there, theeeere... I love your cock, I do, I do, I do!’ He panted until it was properly seated, the feverish twitching at the entrance had died down and the warm pressure became sweet.

‘Do you, though?’ He could feel Thorin’s chuckle all through his body and moaned in reply. ‘Fuckbunny,’ Thorin murmured fondly, and kissed his neck.

‘Ready for me?’ Dwalin asked, at the edge of Bilbo’s hearing.

‘Mmm... ease it in, then.’ The effect on Thorin was very gratifying; Bilbo could feel him tensing, shuddering, his erection briefly flagging and then surging up harder than before. He cursed softly into Bilbo’s hair, while Dwalin gave a deep, contented groan that vibrated through them both.

‘I think I love this,’ Bilbo said faintly.

‘You all right?’ Dwalin asked Thorin. He was still tense, his stocky body hard against Bilbo’s back.

‘I’m... yes... oh, both of you together...’

‘Is it what you wanted?’

Thorin made a kind of strangled sound of agreement.

‘Want me to move?’

‘Not yet...’

‘May _I_ move?’ Bilbo asked.

‘If you like...’

The angle and position were not right to really thrust himself onto Thorin’s cock, but if he tilted and rolled his hips just so, the sensation in his ring was delicious. He arched his back and rocked, moaning softly. ‘Oh, I _love_ that...’

‘Bilbo... ahh...’ Thorin’s hips twitched, a little spasm.

‘I’m going to move,’ Dwalin rumbled, ‘and you move with me. Stay in time. I’ll fuck Bilbo _through_ you.’

They rolled together, Thorin’s sleek, hard cock bearing deep into Bilbo’s inside and nudging the sweet spot. He gasped joyfully, grabbing at the pillow. Dwalin set a steady pace, urging Thorin on with purposeful little grunts. ‘That’s it. That’s it. Give it to him. Deep... and hard... just the way you like it. Ah... fuck... I’m so glad you let me... oof...’

‘So, oh, so am I.’ Thorin arched, trembling, then muttered ‘This is no good.’

‘No?’

‘I mean I can’t - I need to shift. Can’t move enough on my side. Can you pull out while I sort myself out?’

‘Right you are.’ Dwalin eased back; Bilbo could feel the change in Thorin’s body, the pressure of him. He gave a little whine of disappointment as Thorin, too, drew out of him, leaving him feeling empty and needy, as if the food had been snatched from his mouth.

‘Just for a moment,’ Thorin breathed. ‘Bear with me, bunny.’ Strong, broad, sweating hands lifted and turned him onto his tummy, helping him to tuck his knees under himself and lift his bottom. He let himself be moved with a kind of luxurious passivity, and accepted Thorin’s cock, as it slid back home, with a little mewling sound. Thorin was on his knees behind him, and the mattress under him shifted and creaked as Dwalin shuffled in behind _him,_ weight on one knee and the other raised to make a square.

‘Better now?’

‘Much. Oh... oh, you’re right on it.’ Thorin gave a great shudder, working himself deeper into Bilbo’s rump.

‘Mine too,’ Bilbo squeaked. ‘Oh - oh! Both your weights!’

‘We’ll ease back,’ Thorin said.

‘Not too much! Ooooh...’ They ground and pounded into him, and that honey-sweet sensation grew hot as boiling syrup. His snug, slick passage with its clinging little mouth seemed to fill his whole inside, the smooth curve of Thorin’s cock surging and stretching him, and he sucked in air in deep, blissful gasps. He began to rise on his knees, lifting his tail and pushing back firmly. His head was full of all their grunts and sighs and the softly smacking, squishing sounds of cocks pulsing in and out of tender, oiled openings. He was so _hot,_ his face burning, sweat running down the undersides of his arms, dripping from his nipples, gathering where the underside of his tummy brushed the tops of his thighs and trickling down. Thorin’s hands smeared the sweat over his back, coursing up to his shoulders and neck, back down to grip his waist and hips. Bilbo could feel him shuddering as his hands moved down to grasp his buttocks, pressing them together around his thick shaft. He crammed himself backwards, holding his breath until he came like a bursting squib on Midsummer night.

After that he simply slipped off Thorin’s cock, slumping down to rest on the bed, excess oil and spunk seeping out of him in a deliciously warm leakage, drizzling down his crevice to coat his twitching balls. Thorin shifted, moving onto his elbows, arched over him so that his cockhead could rub along his slick back as Dwalin pumped him harder. They seemed to finish quickly, as far as Bilbo could judge in his dazed, floaty, blissful state. He felt a warm sputtering jet against his back, and not long after, Thorin was lowering himself to lie on one side of him, Dwalin on the other, both of them panting raggedly. Thorin flung one arm over his back to rest his hand on Dwalin’s chest, and Dwalin reciprocated with a leg to stroke his feet, under which Bilbo awkwardly extended his own.

They had fallen asleep nestled together like that, and now here he was. He lay and drowsed, and began to wonder about Ori.


	20. Hundreds and Thousands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologise for the total lack of movement on this story in the past few weeks! I haven't been very well lately, though I'm feeling better now. Nothing much happens in this little bit I've squoze out, but I'm hopeful that I'll be able to produce something more lavish soon.  
> If anyone ever feels like drawing their own version of Ori's cartoons of Bilbo, well, FEEL FREE. I love it when readers draw illustrations - check out this amazing filth from hobbitdragon, [version one](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/51628636771/you-sure-you-want-us-to-do-this-bofur-oh) and [version two. ](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/51628631261/how-many-more-are-waiting-for-a-turn-bofur)  
> It's worth mentioning that, while I imagine the dwarves looking as they do in the movie, the Bilbo in my mind's eye is never really Martin Freeman - he's altogether plumper, cuddlier and more curly-haired, with furrier legs. In that picture, HD has him to a T.

It seemed ungrateful to Bilbo to be so preoccupied with Ori, given the wonderful seeing-to Thorin and Dwalin had given him, and the fact that he was going to the island with Bofur again today, but he could not stop himself _wondering._ Ori was probably at that age when you wanted it so _urgently,_ when you could go off pop twice in half an hour and be ready to go again almost as quickly. He could just about remember that, though it was hard to believe it had really been him. He still wanted it desperately at times, but a good deal of that speedy recovery had gone. That was a point to ponder; would they be well matched with such a difference in their ages? Or, to be more accurate, their stages of life, since he had a feeling Ori was probably older than him in mere years.

At breakfast, Ori sat beside him and slipped another folded paper into his pocket. Reluctant to look at it until he could do so in private, Bilbo kept casting sideways glances at the artist instead. Sometimes he caught Ori sneaking glances at _him,_ which made them both blush rather, but most of the time he could look his fill without embarrassment. Ori was awkward, yes, boyishly so, with that sideways quirk to his face when he smiled, and he had a nose he was probably still hoping he would grow into, but his freckles were sweet and his deep-set eyes were bright, and Bilbo kept thinking of how soft that kiss had been, even the moustache. He found he wanted to rub his cheek against Ori’s fine beard. He settled for cautiously brushing his toes against his foot, though he wasn’t sure Ori could feel it through his chunky boots.

During the clearing away he managed to get a moment by himself in the pantry, and held the paper under the small window to see another illustration of himself. He was surrounded by food again, though this time Ori had not taken liberties with scale. The strawberries, cherries, peaches and plums piled around him were all of a normal size, though he had never had the opportunity to sit amid a drift of such fruits in his birthday suit. They were piled in his lap, his knees peeping through, and his lips and fingers were stained deep pink with juice. Ori had used touches of watercolour for the fruit and for further blooms of colour on Bilbo’s cheeks, knees and elbows. Again, he was looking out at the viewer, his eyes merry and teasing, popping a strawberry into his mouth. Underneath was written ‘I dream about you!’

Bilbo stood there, beaming at it foolishly, until he heard footsteps outside and hurriedly tucked it back in his pocket for future reference.

Fortunately, he was not so distracted by his ardent young suitor as to be oblivious to how pleasant it was to sit beside Bofur in the little rowboat carrying them out to the island. The day was not quite as balmy as their first outing, with a milky, overcast sky and some choppy wavelets on the lake, but the air was still quite mild. Even so, Bofur wrapped an arm around him to keep him warm, and he snuggled into his side gratefully. 

They made a little camp in the hollow and set about building a fire.

‘Not so long ago,’ Bilbo remarked, ‘I could lay a fire in a proper fireplace, but I wouldn’t have had the first idea how to make one in the wilderness.’ 

‘You still haven’t the first idea,’ Bofur said, smiling. ‘You can’t put a piece that big on top.’ He rearranged the sticks in a more practical manner.

‘What a good thing I’ve got you to put me right, then.’ 

‘Ooh, was there some lemon juice on that?’

‘Just a squirt.’ Bilbo tweaked the end of Bofur’s left plait.

‘Let me just strike a light,’ he replied, ‘and we’ll see what’s what.’ He began messing about with a tinderbox.

‘Well, _I_ shall make us a nest,’ Bilbo declared. He shook out one blanket as a groundsheet and rolled another to place at its head, like a long cross between a bolster and a pillow. He stretched himself out upon it, his head comfortably cushioned, and wagged his feet companionably at Bofur. 

‘Did you have a nice time last night?’ Bofur asked, a little uncertainly. He had got the kindling alight and was fanning it with his hat.

‘Yes, absolutely.’

‘It’s all right to ask you that, then? I was sort of wondering, I mean, do we talk about what you get up to with the other fellows? Do you talk about me to them?’

‘Well,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully, ‘some things are private. It’s one thing to say “look, would you do this thing Bofur showed me, I love it,” but another to repeat what somebody told you in bed.’

‘Right, state secrets,’ Bofur said, nodding.

‘We don’t really talk about state secrets, unless you count the royal bathroom as such. Well, I wouldn’t tell Thorin your family business, either. Or anything that, you know, you were embarrassed about or just wanted to be private.’

‘Ah, well, good to know.’ The fire decently underway, Bofur came to join him on the blanket. ‘I keep thinking of new wrinkles in this arrangement, what do we do about so-and-so. That was my wrinkle of the day.’ He rolled towards Bilbo and gave him a quick, warm kiss on the cheek. ‘You happy?’

‘Oh, yes. You?’ Bilbo rolled onto his side to face him.

‘Missed you last night, but I’ve got you all day. Can I... can I check something?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, you like sharing yourself around. Will you mind if I do a bit too? Even if you’re not there?’

‘Who with? I mean, with who? Whom?’ Bilbo asked, confusedly.

‘I just wondered, and I haven’t done anything about it yet, but you know Nori?’

‘Ah, _Nori._ Well, that makes sense! I don’t mind the least little bit. Share with my compliments. I know, I’ll tie a card to your willy with a ribbon, that says “I hope you enjoy this as much as I do, cordially, Bilbo”.’ He twisted the end of the nearest plait around his forefinger and gave it a friendly tug.

‘Is there someone you _would_ have minded me sharing with? Sharing me with? You’ve got me doing it now.’

‘No, not really... but I quite like the idea of Nori keeping you company when I can’t. Do you want him to smack your bottom too?’ Bilbo hitched himself closer and curled the tip of Bofur’s moustache around his little finger.

‘I might like a bit of rough sometimes. We might be planning what to do next time we’ve got you together.’ Bofur kissed the finger too. ‘We had a _filthy_ talk about you last night. Great fun. Wanked myself blind afterwards.’

‘Oh, I like that. I _do_ like being the subject of filthy talks.’ Bilbo wriggled with pleasure. ‘The thought that _I’m_ an exciting thought is a tremendously exciting thought, if you see what I mean. I... I think I should tell you something, and I wish I’d asked the other person about it first, but then I think it’s better not to delay letting you know any longer.’

‘You’ve found someone _else_ to fuck you? How do you do it? Have you got a little lodestone in your bum that draws the cocks in like iron?’ Bofur slipped his hand in under Bilbo’s coat and tickled the side of his waist.

‘I didn’t find him! At least, I didn’t go looking for him. Don’t tell anyone, because I don’t want him to be embarrassed, but Ori’s courting me now.’

‘Ori! Good for him. I thought he’d been looking a bit... I don’t know, puffed up, like he’d got a secret he was really enjoying. How does he court?’

‘Well, _really_ don’t tell anyone, but he draws me pictures. Here, look.’ Bilbo drew the folded papers from his pocket and spread them out for Bofur to see. He looked, then stared, then burst into delighted laughter.

‘Oh, he’s got you to the life! I thought he’d be all innocent but he sees just what a little tart you are, _and_ he likes it.’

‘Well, he hasn’t _had_ it yet. He’s sort of trying to break away from Dori a bit first - but not break away too roughly.’

‘Ah, not easy. He’s got a lot to look forward to, though. These drawings are _great._ I’m pricking up looking at ‘em. D’you think he’d do one for me?’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Well, if I have to go on a trip or something, and I don’t see you for a bit. I could carry it in a wee locket. When I’m feeling low or lonely, pop it open, and there you are, with your arse in a pie or something.’

‘Bit of a waste of a pie,’ Bilbo said, though he found the notion rather flattering. ‘Oh, look, the sun’s coming out.’ There were slanting pale-gold rays breaking through the scattering clouds.

‘D’you know what I’d like better than an arse-pie-picture? You in just your shirt. Would you feel like getting your kit off for me? I can wrap you up in the blanket if you’re cold.’

‘You _are_ funny about that,’ Bilbo said indulgently, sitting up and beginning to strip off his coat. ‘But I suppose everyone has their little quirks.’

‘And it’d be a dull world if we were all alike, and other things your granny would say,’ Bofur replied. ‘How’re your bruises?’

‘Still tender, but on the mend.’ He tossed aside his waistcoat and went to work on his trouser-buttons, shuffling around on his knees to show his bottom as they dropped. ‘See?’

‘Nori’ll want to see those. He says he likes to see them day by day, changing colours like the autumn leaves.’

‘How poetic!’ Bilbo kicked his trousers and smalls away and rolled back to face Bofur. ‘There, nothing but a shirt. What do you think?’

‘I think I love seeing your cock playing peep-bo under the hem. Come here.’ He wrapped Bilbo up in his arms and kissed him deeply and wetly, his tongue stroking.

‘I’m nice and clean,’ Bilbo murmured against his cheek, ‘so I was hoping you might rim me.’

‘Little tinker. Like the way I do it, do you?’

‘You’re the only one who’s done _that_ to me, so I hope you feel properly honoured and special.’

‘I do, I do.’

They passed a blissfully lazy day, alternately basking in the autumn sunshine and bundling up in their blankets when the sky clouded over. Fortunately for them, it never quite rained as it occasionally threatened to do, though it began to spit as they were rowed back to the town at the end of the day.

There was no getting out of a public dinner that night, though this one was quieter than some had been. Perhaps the people of Lake-town were finally growing sated with the novelty of entertaining dwarves. There was no decline in the quality of the catering or the entertainment, but the mood in the Master’s dining hall was somewhat different, not yet cooler, but no longer bubbling with excitement. Perhaps the rain by now drumming on the roof had dampened the spirits within. The party broke up at a more reasonable hour, and Bilbo had no need of being carried into the house, though he did nestle close to Bofur in the boat going home. 

They were getting ready for bed, Bilbo kneeling on the mattress while Bofur sat on the side to have his hair brushed, when Ori came into the room, lugging the books and papers he had managed to accumulate since their arrival. 

‘Hallo,’ he said, somewhat hoarsely, and cleared his throat and started again. ‘Can I sleep in here tonight, please?’

‘Oh, you want to sleep in the big boys’ room?’ Kili asked, sitting up from his examination of a hole in his sock. Fili, who was beside him sharpening one of his many knives, gave him a gently reproving look and a poke in the shoulder.

‘Well, I thought there might be a bed free if Mr Dwalin, Dwalin is spending the night with Thorin again,’ Ori said, smiling hopefully. Dwalin’s bed was indeed free, made up with its usual military precision.

‘Go ahead,’ said Bofur affably. 

‘Did Dori chuck you out?’ Nori asked. He was busy practising a sleight of hand trick with a coin, bouncing it over his knuckles, and did not really look at his brother.

‘Oh, no! No, we had quite a good talk, and I, well, I said that I thought I needed to be more independent, and I couldn’t if I stayed so close to him all the time, and I did sort of point out that it’s all older fellows in that room, well, and Bombur, but anyway, I wanted to just try, and in the end he said oh all right but don’t come crying to me if you can’t sleep with that lot of roughs, and here I am.’ He dropped his things on the chest at the foot of the bed and stood there smiling, his lower lip caught under his teeth.

‘Ah, but you know,’ said Nori, still watching his coin, ‘we do terrible things in here.’ He glanced up and winked.

‘Well. Um. Well, I know, you know.’ Ori was blushing, but bright-eyed.

‘Whoa-ho-ho!’ Kili crowed, and Bofur gave an approving whistle, for which Bilbo tugged his hair.

‘I think it’ll be very nice to have you here,’ Bilbo said. He would have liked to welcome Ori with a hug and a kiss, but it seemed not quite the thing at this stage. Perhaps he shouldn’t sleep in Bofur’s bed tonight, in case it made Ori unhappy? But it was no good to wonder. ‘Could I talk to you outside for a moment?’

‘Oh! Yes! Certainly.’ Ori hurried after him, to more approving laughter from Fili and Kili. Once they were out in the corridor with the door shut, Bilbo breathed easier.

‘So you talked to Dori,’ he said. ‘Well done, you!’

‘And here I am! It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be,’ Ori beamed.

‘I didn’t know it would be so soon,’ Bilbo went on. ‘I would like to - well, I think I should ask you what you’re expecting. In there.’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Ori said, his smile faltering. ‘Something pretty good!’

‘It’s not an orgy in there every night, you see. We usually just talk a bit and go to sleep. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed if it’s not very exciting.’

‘Oh, no, no, that’s all right. I mean, it’s got to be better than Gloin farting and Oin carving away at his corns and Bifur talking in his sleep. Once I woke up and he was standing over me with his eyes open all white. He wasn’t even awake. I just lay there because I wasn’t sure what to do and after a bit he patted my head and went back to bed.’ Ori shook himself as if shaking off the memory. ‘I didn’t feel scared, though. It was as if he was checking up on me. Perhaps he thought I was somebody else.’

‘Perhaps he did.’ Bilbo hesitated another moment. ‘I was planning to sleep with Bofur tonight, but that was about all - just to curl up together, you know.’

‘Must be nice,’ Ori said, a touch wistfully.

‘But there’ll be a good time for you and me soon. I want you to be quite sure of that.’

‘Really?’ Ori asked, brightening again.

‘Yes, absolutely. I just need to fix it up. I’m keen as mustard by now.’

Ori coloured up with delight. ‘Can I kiss you again?’

‘No, I think I’ll kiss you.’ He took hold of the front of Ori’s tunic and drew him in, thoroughly enjoying the ticklish sensation of his moustache and the shy, eager way his lips moved. His own toes twitched with pleasure, and he rose a little on the balls of his feet to nuzzle in firmly before releasing him. ‘Could you pop back in and send Nori out? I just want to have a quick word with him.’

‘All right.’ Ori ducked in and kissed him once more before scurrying back into the bedroom. Nori emerged a moment later, still juggling his coin. 

‘What are you doing to that lad?’ he asked, grinning. ‘He’s pink as a ham.’

‘Nothing much,’ Bilbo said, trying not to grin too much himself. ‘He says you’re in favour of him and me getting together. Is that right?’

‘I don’t want to know all the details, but yeah, I think it’ll do him good. He’ll be in safe hands and enjoy himself, and not learn too many bad habits.’

‘Good. Good. In that case, I wondered if you’d be willing for us to borrow your little room tomorrow?’ Bilbo steepled his hands together and tried to look winsomely hopeful. 

‘It’s not really my room,’ Nori said, shrugging. ‘But you’re welcome to it.’

‘I think we’ll be more comfortable in private. I don’t want Ori to be self-conscious or worry about anyone interrupting us. So that’s all right?’

‘I want one thing in exchange.’ A little grin flickered at the corner of Nori’s mouth. ‘Let me see how your bruises are coming along.’

‘Um. Here?’

‘Would you?’ The grin broadened.

‘Oh, why not.’ Bilbo turned his back on Nori, tugging his shirt-tails out of his trousers, popped the suspender-buttons at the back, and lowered the seat. ‘If Dori comes along, he can’t think worse of either of us by now.’

‘Presenting in the hallway, Mister Baggins!’ Nori said in a fair imitation of Dori’s fussiness. ‘Where did you learn _that!’_  Bilbo felt his hands on his buttocks, stroking and squeezing, warm and heavy, and wriggled his hips appreciatively. ‘My oath, you heal up fast. I thought you’d be purple still, but they’re just blue and grey. Sore?’ He pressed with his thumb, and Bilbo felt a dull ache.

‘Yes, so I’ll thank you not to prod at them any more.’

‘Your arse,’ Nori said fondly. ‘It’s just so fat and creamy.’ He pressed the cheeks together and gave them a little shake, admiring how they quivered. ‘When d’you think I could give it another good spanking?’

‘I’d like the bruises to be quite gone first. Would you like that? To start again on a clean page?’

Nori made a sort of appreciative teeth-sucking sound. ‘I reckon. All right, put it away before I forget my manners.’ He let go and Bilbo straightened up, pulling up his britches, though he didn’t bother to tuck his shirt in. 

‘I’ve always found you a perfect gentleman,’ he said cheerfully.

It was a rather odd evening, since Fili and Kili took it upon themselves to entertain and educate Ori by putting on a very lavish and vigorous show on the bed next to his. He lay there with the blanket pulled up to his ears, pink-faced and staring, his mouth half open, as they energetically coupled, Fili firmly and correctly on top.

‘Look at those eyes,’ Bofur murmured in Bilbo’s ear. They were nestled cosily together, Bofur at Bilbo’s back and gently diddling him under the covers as he rubbed his warm, oiled cock between his thighs. ‘Think he’ll look at you like that?’

‘Oh, shh,’ Bilbo moaned, wriggling with pleasure and embarrassment. He could see a rapid stirring under Ori’s covers where he must be wanking, and he quite understood.

In the morning, he woke curled up in Bofur’s arms, feeling very much loved and lucky. He lay combing his fingers through the thick dark tangle of Bofur’s hair, which had worked halfway loose from its braids, until he stirred and opened his eyes. 

‘Morning,’ he sighed, his voice a little hoarse, as it tended to be on waking. 

‘Morning,’ Bilbo murmured. ‘D’you think you’ll mess around with Nori today?’

‘There’s an idea.’ Bofur kissed his cheek and rubbed with the blunt tip of his nose. ‘You going to have a bath?’

‘There’s another. I’d like to be nice and clean for Ori. I’ll be corrupting him after breakfast.’

‘Bet he can’t wait.’


	21. First Fruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand it's Ori's turn. Dear little Ori.

Bilbo spent the first bit of his morning in avid preparations, making sure that the little room was equipped with everything they might conceivably need, the bed made up with clean sheets, while his heart pattered and his body flushed warm with anticipation. It was raining heavily outside, and the drum and whoosh of the falling water on the roof, the jetties and the surface of the lake somehow added to his excitement. He slid a little hamper of snacks under the bed and decided, with a satisfied nod, that all was ready.

He went on an Ori hunt and located him sitting in the parlour, writing busily in his journal. Bilbo sat down on the settee beside him and hitched himself over as close as possible until their hips touched, before leaning over and whispering in Ori’s ear.

‘Psstt.’

‘Oh! What? Hello.’ Ori made a confused effort to cover his writing with his sleeve, and smiled shyly.

‘Hello. How are you?’

‘I’m all right. Um. You smell nice.’

‘Thank you! I’m very clean.’ He snuggled closer and put his head on Ori’s shoulder. ‘And I’m being very subtle. At least compared with the show-offs last night.’

Ori smothered a laugh. They had the room to themselves, apart from Balin snoozing in the window-seat, but they were both speaking in hushed voices. ‘They were, um, they were pretty exciting.’

‘Do you remember what I said about a good time for the two of us?’

‘Yes,’ Ori said hesitantly.

‘Everything’s set. Now it’s just up to you to choose the time, whenever you feel like it.’

‘What, really? Already?’

‘Yes - but mind, that doesn’t mean we have to hop to it today. I’ll be ready whenever you are. I only wanted you to know.’

Ori had turned a vivid strawberry pink, the colour rolling up from his neck. ‘I can’t quite believe this is happening to me, and all at once. And I just had to ask!’

‘Just to ask the right person, like me,’ Bilbo said with a smile and a shrug. ‘Well, then, just let me know.’ He began to slide down from the settee, but was stopped by Ori’s hand on his arm.

‘Is - is now too soon? You did say it’s all set...’

‘I did hope you’d say that! But I wanted to let you out easily if you felt any hesitation.’ He scooted  back and kissed Ori warmly, feeling his hand tighten on his arm. ‘Before we go, I just want to make that very clear. The first time I ever did this, I was with my friends, and they took great care of me. They kept making sure I was all right, and happy, and I’ll do that too - but do, please, say something right away if you’re not. Don’t wait for me to ask. I won’t be cross, or disappointed. Whether you want me to stop, or just to wait for a bit, it will be absolutely all right.’

‘I’m not afraid!’ Ori exclaimed, and gave him another deep, surging kiss, his nose grinding into Bilbo’s cheek.

‘Of course... there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I want you to be _comfortable,_ you silly noodle.’

‘But I want to try _everything!’_

‘And so you shall. Come on.’ Bilbo grabbed Ori’s hand and scrambled down from the settee, wishing that Man-sized furniture allowed him to dismount more gracefully.  He towed Ori out of the parlour and upstairs. His own palm was sweaty, and he was very conscious of the dampening knitted texture of Ori’s fingerless mitten. His heart was still all a-patter, and he kept glancing and beaming at Ori, finding him beaming back. He opened the little door and led Ori through to the private room.

‘I’ve got everything ready for us,’ he said. ‘We’ll want for numph.’ The ‘numph’ was a ‘nothing’ smothered in a greedy kiss, and he wrapped his arms around Ori eagerly, rising on his toes to press up to him hard. They clung to each other, breathing hard, jaws working and tongues stroking, and he hummed with satisfaction as he felt Ori’s hands groping over his back, rubbing and squeezing their way down to grasp his bottom. _I hope you like that as much as your brother does._

They broke apart for air, a strand of saliva stretching between their mouths before it broke and fell against Bilbo’s lip. ‘Am I doing all right?’ Ori asked, his voice throaty. ‘I know I can’t be as good as the others, but is it nice?’

‘It’s so, _so_ nice. More, please!’ He didn’t think Ori would like to hear it, but he was delighted by this kind of messy, frantic, boyish kissing, as if he were back with his playfellows in a long-ago summer. He wished Ori were dressed more like a hobbit - he was easy enough to fondle in his waistcoat, shirt and trousers, but Ori was wrapped in such a thick tunic, with woolly layers underneath, that it was hard to feel the real shape of his body. ‘My heart’s beating like a drum.’ He moaned down low in his throat as he sucked Ori’s soft sleek tongue.

‘You’re just - can I - oh...’ Ori seemed to be floundering, and his cheeks were scarlet, making his hair look more ginger than usual. ‘What should I do?’ he asked with an effort.

‘Unbutton me. Waistcoat first. That’s right.’ Bilbo bit his lower lip in order not to grin; he didn’t want Ori to think that he was laughing at his avid stare and heavy breathing, but they tickled him enormously. He shrugged off the waistcoat, and pushed his braces down from his shoulders. ‘Shirt now. There we are.’

‘You’re so _soft_ and... well, bare. Every time we’ve all bathed I’ve had to try not to stare. Can I feel you?’

‘Take off your gloves first. Then feel away.’ Ori’s hands smoothed over his skin as they pushed the shirt off his arms, and waves of warmth followed them.

‘You do _have_ hair, it’s just so soft and fine and short it hardly shows. You’re like a peach.’ Ori stroked over Bilbo’s chest, wondering at the soft little pointed teats and the wispy patch of hair between them. ‘If I were you I’d stroke myself all the time.’

Bilbo couldn’t help laughing at that, and pulled Ori in for another kiss. ‘You know, I feel the same way about you lot and your lovely hair. I think we should just stroke each other. Trousers now, please.’ It sent flutters through his tummy to feel Ori fumbling with his fly-buttons, and he shivered happily as the corduroy dropped around his ankles and he kicked them free. 

‘Can I take your knickers off too?’

‘Feel free. Just undo the drawstring. Mind my cock - we don’t want it taking an eye out.’ It was plumping and perking up happily, twitching in its nest of light-brown curls, and Ori gazed at it with the most flattering admiration and curiosity.

‘Mine’s not as nice as yours,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Let me be the judge of that.’ Bilbo stepped back, got his hands on the edge of the bed and bounced himself up to sit there, feet swinging. ‘How would you feel about undressing for me?’

‘Would you like me to? Really?’

‘Absolutely!’

‘Right!’ Ori’s face brightened with enthusiasm and he began struggling out of his clothes, hopping on one foot at a time to get his boots and socks off. His face was flushing redder, and wisps of hair began falling from the braided crest Nori had restyled that morning. He kept glancing up at Bilbo, beaming shyly, and he grinned back in delight. Layers of wool, woven and knitted, flopped on the floor until Ori was wriggling out of his high-waisted combinations. When they were gone he grew bashful again, hanging his head and scuffing his feet, hands twisted behind him. 

([reference](http://25.media.tumblr.com/929e92479c36484df9d905e964db07fb/tumblr_mm55vn0p8N1qgz5e9o1_1280.jpg))

‘What do you _mean_ yours isn’t as nice as mine? Yours is glorious! It looks like a whopper.’

‘It’s embarrassing, being so big!’ Ori protested. ‘It’s always flopping and waggling around and being very unpredictable.’

‘Well, I’ll have you know a cock like that could make you a very popular boy. I’d love to play with it. What do you say?’

‘Oh, yes please!’ Ori scrambled up on the bed. There was a little awkwardness as he could not decide how he wanted to sit, and bobbed and wriggled around with cries of ‘Wait a moment!’ and ‘No, that’s not right.’ Bilbo, biting the inside of his cheek quite firmly, managed to settle him with his back against the pillows and straddled his lap to give him a long, steadying kiss. 

‘Do you play with yourself a lot?’ he asked, drawing back slightly.

‘Of course I do,’ Ori said, a touch impatiently, though he added ‘Not as much as I’d _like_ to, with Dori always about.’

‘Good. You can tell me all about what feels nice on you.’

‘Bilbo? Do you? Play with yourself, I mean.’

‘Oh, yes. Not when I’m fucking with other people a lot, but when I lived by myself it was every night and most mornings. When I was a boy it might be three or four times a day, if I didn’t see my friends. You saw what a big rambling place my home is - any nook or cranny where you could curl up privately, you can be more or less sure I’ve brought myself off there.’

‘I did it in your bathroom,’ Ori blurted out.

‘You little tinker.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, I was so excited to be going on a real adventure, and it wouldn’t go down, so I crept in there so I wouldn’t wake anyone up. I tidied up after myself, though. Do you know Fili and Kili were at it in your pantry?’

‘I did _not.’_

‘I didn’t spy on them, but I could hear them and - and it made me need a wank even more.’

‘Tell me exactly what you did.’

‘I got a big dollop of that nice hand-cream in the pot by the hand-basin, and I sat in your bath and rubbed it all over my cock and balls and I - well, _you_ know.’

‘It wasn’t you that tried to flush the guest towel, was it?’

‘No, I think that was Bofur.’

‘Did you come in my bath?’

‘Yes. I washed everything away, and I hung my towel up.’

‘I don’t care about that at the moment,’ Bilbo said, carefully dismissing his concerns about that wretched guest towel and its effect on the plumbing. ‘I want to think about you touching yourself. I couldn’t see your cock when you were at it last night, but your face was the sweetest thing.’

‘And yours! With Bofur doing things to you under the covers! Honestly, I was watching you as much as them.’

‘That’s _very_ flattering.’ Bilbo rolled to lie on his hip at Ori’s side. ‘May I have a fiddle with your lovely cock?’

‘Ooh, yes.’ 

‘Here we are.’ Feeling very pleased with himself for preparing so well, Bilbo reached into the box he had stashed between the wall and the pillow and took out the bottle of cooking oil. He popped out the cork with his thumb and drizzled a fine stream of oil over Ori’s cock, putting the bottle away and spreading it over the tender skin with his palm. He felt it jump and surge, thickening under his touch, growing warmer as he wrapped his hand around it and drew it out straight.

‘It... it takes a little bit to get really solidly hard,’ Ori breathed. ‘I’m not sure if it’s normal.’

‘That’s quite all right. We’re all a bit different. I harden up fast, but as you can see, I’m not very big. Perhaps that’s something to do with it.’ He pressed his erection against Ori’s side and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘And sometimes I soften for a while and then harden up again. No-one can stay hard indefinitely. As long as you _can_ get a good cockstand and get some pleasure from it, I shouldn’t worry.’

‘Oh, I do!’ Ori wriggled his hips, pushing into Bilbo’s hand, the head of his cock blooming pinker. ‘Oh... oh, it’s so _nice_ having someone do it for me!’

‘I need you to tell me what you like, though. You know best.’

Ori sighed. ‘Oh... I like... I like to rub up and down the middle for a bit, then change and rub my balls... and when I want to come I rub harder and I get the tip in my other hand and rub it there... into my palm, you know... oh, but when I do come, please don’t touch the end. Let it alone till I’ve calmed down a bit, or it’s sore.’

‘That’s just what I’ll do. _And_ I’ll tell you how sweet you look with your cheeks all red. And how much I like your curly belly.’

‘How much?’ Ori asked with a nervous chuckle.

‘An awful lot.’ He combed his oily fingers through the thick hair, up to Ori’s navel and back down to resume his stroke. 

‘I’m not... not very muscley.’

‘Nor am I. I do all right.’

‘Not like Dwalin.’

‘Oh, do you like Dwalin?’

Ori bit his lip a moment, his tummy quivering. ‘I - I want him to hold me down and fuck me really hard up my bottom.’ His eyes darted over at Bilbo. ‘D’you think he ever would?’

‘I don’t know for certain, but I think you’ve a good chance. On the other hand, I wouldn’t try it yet. A cock like Dwalin’s is something to work up to, with experience. I like to be fucked by at least one chap before him, just to make sure I’m loose and wet and ready.’

‘Oh, you say _such_ things!’

‘I’ve been told I’m a filthmonger.’

‘You are, you are!’ Ori said, with a delighted squirm. ‘Is he really big? I’ve only seen him soft in the bath.’

‘He’s about your length, I think, but yours is slimmer. His has such a big fat head it’s difficult to work in. It feels grand once it’s in there, though, and he’s gentle - he’ll never push it in further than you can bear. Oh... look how big you are now. What a beauty!’ Where Nori’s body hair was darker and browner than that on his head, Ori’s was more rusty, particularly in his groin. Bilbo thought the red set against Ori’s deep pink shaft extremely pretty.

‘I... oh, I want him to... I want _lots,’_ Ori murmured. ‘Like you. Not right now, I know, but when I’m ready.’

‘That’s the way!’ Bilbo kissed him again, hugging him close with his other arm as he rubbed, his hand gliding over slick heat. ‘I’ll just get you started.’

‘I love how you kiss,’ Ori breathed. ‘I - I’m getting really excited.’

‘Good!’

‘I don’t think I can hold on very long.’

‘Don’t try to hold on at all. Holding on is for when you’re trying to satisfy someone else before you let go. Would you like me to kiss it?’

‘Oh... oh, would you?’

‘Of course I would.’ Bilbo shuffled back on his knees, gazing up at Ori as he licked the glossy tip. Ori did not have the most handsome face, but it was made beautiful by the utter, overwhelmed delight in his expression. He gasped, his eyelids fluttering and his lips shining wet. Shivers ran through him, and his legs hitched, heels sliding on the blanket. 

‘Ah... aah...’ Abruptly, his face scrunched up, his hips kicked and a great sticky stream of white shot out against Bilbo’s nose and lips. He was a little shocked at the sheer quantity. Clearly that was a family trait, and for just a moment he wondered if Dori was the same. In the same moment he remembered Ori’s warning, and drew back to avoid hurting his tender, twitching cock. He felt a warm, squeezing sensation in his chest, seeing how sweetly exhausted Ori looked, lying limply as if he had melted onto the pillows like cheese on toast. He wanted very badly to keep touching him, and hoped that stroking his thighs would be welcome, feeling their muscles flicker and their thick soft hair ruffle under his palms.

‘Oh... oh...’ Ori licked his lips, and swallowed thickly. ‘Oh Bilbo!’ He lifted his head and blinked dreamily. ‘You’ve got a beard,’ he said, and gave a little giggle. ‘A drippy white beard.’

Bilbo burst out laughing and hid his face in Ori’s curly belly, wiping off the beard. He could feel Ori giggling as well as hear him, tremors running through his tummy, and he kissed him hard, nuzzling and chuckling, seeking ticklish points until they were both quite weak with laughter. He lay curled beside Ori, catching his breath.

‘I didn’t think it would be like this,’ Ori said, wiping his eyes. ‘Having a laugh together. It’s odd, but it’s nice.’

‘I think so. And now, we can have a nice little rest.’

‘And a cuddle?’ Ori said hesitantly.

‘Of course.’ He let Ori gather him into his arms and nestled close, resting his head on one slightly bony shoulder. 

‘Was it really all right that I just came off so quickly?’ Ori murmured. ‘Don’t say yes just to be nice.’

‘I didn’t mind a bit. I feel tremendously clever when I have that effect.’ He nuzzled into the side of Ori’s neck, smelling his tangled hair. ‘Mmm... I keep thinking about how wonderful you’d feel inside me. D’you want to try that later?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘I think it’s a good idea to try it the other way about first, though. You’ll do a better job giving if you know what it’s like to receive.’

‘And you’ll teach me how?’ Ori’s arms tightened around him, and he breathed in deeply.

‘Every bit of it.’ He felt Ori give a pleased little grunt in his throat, and a contented wriggle. The tip of his long nose prodded Bilbo’s cheek, and he began to cover his face with warm, soft kisses.

‘Lovely soft peach face,’ Ori breathed, seeking out Bilbo’s lips. The way he kissed was still wet and puppyish, and Bilbo began gently trying to guide him to slurp a bit less. Ori’s hands showed excellent instincts, stroking his hair, his cheeks, his neck and shoulders, as they drew closer together, their legs interlacing and rubbing. Bilbo snuggled in, enjoying the tickle of Ori’s hair on his belly, the floppy weight of his large, soft cock falling against his hip as he rolled onto his back and Ori gingerly lowered himself onto him.

‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘If you squash me I’ll give you a little push. You can take some of your weight on your arms, but I like feeling you on top of me, so big and warm.’

‘And you’re so _soft..._ oh...’  Ori kissed him deeply, tongue delving, breath gusting against his face. ‘Bilbo? Bilbo, will you let me try sucking you?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He pressed his forehead to Ori’s, catching his breath. ‘The important thing to remember is to use your lips and tongue, and to be careful of your teeth. Don’t worry if they touch the cock a bit, but they mustn’t scrape it - unless someone likes that and asks you to. Though I won’t.’

‘Will it hurt you really badly?’ Ori asked, his forehead crinkling.

‘No, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to tell you if you need to open wider. Would you like to practise on my fingers so you don’t feel nervous?’

‘But that won’t be very nice for you.’

‘Oh yes it will. Want to?’ Bilbo offered his first two fingers, and after a moment’s hesitation Ori opened his mouth and took them in. He gazed earnestly up at Bilbo from under his eyebrows, and he had to bite his lip. When he was young one of his cousins had had a puppy that liked to take one’s fingers in its mouth and gently mumble them about, looking up with just this expression, sweet and uncertain and a little apologetic. _I must not call him a puppy,_ he told himself firmly. _Oh, but he’s_ such _a puppy!_

Ori sucked, gently, his tongue shifting back and forth.

‘Yes... good... now, do you feel where your top front teeth are? Can you sort of tuck them in behind your lip? Keep your lips wrapped around very snugly. Yes, just like that. Ooh, they’re so soft.’ He wet his own lips with his tongue-tip, rubbing them together. ‘Will you do it just like that? I’d love that.’

‘That’s all right, then?’ Ori breathed over Bilbo’s wet fingers. 

‘Perfectly all right. Lovely. Will you? I want it so.’

‘Of course!’ His face brightened and he shuffled back down the bed on his knees. ‘It’s such a _pretty_ pink cock. It’s like - like a saveloy!’

‘Saveloys are red, though. Thorin says it’s a pink pork sausage.’ To his dismay, he saw Ori falter.

‘I can’t really measure up to _him,’_ he mumbled.

‘I’m not measuring you,’ Bilbo said hastily. ‘Don’t think of that now. Look, it’s waiting for you.’ He rocked his hips to make his cock waggle. ‘Wouldn’t you like to taste it?’

‘Yes, please.’ Ori hunched down and softly licked the head.

‘Ooh... yes... hold it in your hand and give it a good wet lick.’ His hips squirmed happily and he caught his lower lip with his teeth. ‘Oh, Ori, _what_ a good tongue!’

‘Mmm?’ 

‘Lick, lick, lick, all over. Oh, it feels so warm and tingly.’ His head rocked back and he sighed in delight. _‘Ooh..._ put it in your mouth, please.’ Ori’s mouth was like wet velvet wrapping around him, and the pulling sensation as he sucked made his toes clench. ‘That’s wonderful!’ It was a little clumsy, but it was Ori’s first attempt, and the firstness and newness of it were thrilling. He lay revelling in it, stirring himself now and then to help Ori with his form. The rain drummed on the roof and shushed down the drainpipes, and he felt as if he were in a lovely dream.

Reluctantly, he nudged at Ori’s head and he lifted it, his lips reddened. ‘Am I doing it all right?’

‘You’re doing it _so_ well. I don’t want to come quite yet.’

‘Oh. Because you’re going to bugger me?’

‘If you still want me to!’

‘Yes, _please!_ What should I do?’ Ori sat up, all alert and willing, his cock back at half-mast.

‘How do you think you would be more comfortable? You could lie on your back or on your tummy - or your side, for that matter. You’ll need to spread your legs apart to let me in between your bumcheeks.’

Ori nibbled at his lower lip, thinking, and turned away, his head towards the foot of the bed, settling down on his front. ‘Like this?’ he asked over his shoulder. He drew up his legs like a frog, presenting his hindquarters for inspection.

‘My word, you’re flexible.’ Bilbo shuffled up behind him and bent low over his body to kiss his cheek. ‘And you’re lovely, and I want to fill you up with all the pleasure I can possibly give you.’ He swept Ori’s hair off his nape and kissed there too, the skin sweaty and salty, smelling strongly of heated boy, nuzzling and sucking as he brought both hands down to knead at his buttocks. Ori’s bottom was narrow, slightly pudgy but without the firm full bulk of muscle he was used to with dwarves. That would grow, he supposed. He rocked back to sit on his heels and massage the cheeks, circling, pressing them together with both hands and then parting them with his thumbs. Ori’s breathing deepened, and he shifted his legs, flexing his back and lifting his bottom. ‘Do you like that?’

‘Mmm...’ He nodded, arranging his arms to pillow his head.

‘Because it’s the first time, I’ll go slowly - but if you’d like me to hurry up, do say so. You should always tell me if there’s something you want.’

‘Right...’ Ori was gazing back at him still, his cheeks flushed and his hair rumpled, and his eyes showing desire and anxiety and trust all together.

‘It will be quite messy with the oil. Don’t mind that. We’ll clean you up afterwards.’ Bilbo poured oil into his hand as he spoke, coating his fingers.

‘Go on, then.’

‘All right... first a nice slow rub.’ He worked his fingers between Ori’s buttocks, dribbling in more oil, stroking down to the root of his cock and back up to his snug ring. Ori gave a tremulous sigh, his body twitching lightly. ‘Have you done this for yourself?’

‘No... I wanted to, but I couldn’t see it properly and I was afraid I’d do something wrong and need help... that would be terribly embarrassing.’

‘I’ll show you just how it goes, and you can do it for me, too, later on.’ His middle fingertip passed over the puckered pink opening again, and it flickered under the touch. ‘There’s your bumhole. It’s such a pretty one, all rosy. It’s going to feel really strange when I start opening it up, but there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Will you keep just rubbing like that for a bit more? Until I get used to it?’

‘With pleasure. It’s all going pink, you know, where I rub. Does it feel hot?’

‘It does a bit.’

‘Pink and shiny. I like how fine and fluffy the hair on your bum is, too. Though when it gets oily, it makes little spiral curlicues.’ As his right hand worked up and down the crease, his left kneaded Ori’s buttocks, enjoying how they squished.

‘Mmm.’ Ori’s gaze was heavy-lidded, almost drowsy, though his eyes were bright and his breathing was quick and deep. ‘You can carry on. I - I feel good.’

‘Good.’ Bilbo gave him a fond, encouraging smile. ‘I’ll ease my finger in. The trick is, when you feel me push in, you should push out a bit. It’ll open up like a little flower bud, and I’ll slide in as neat as you please. Ready? Here it comes.’ 

After just a moment’s confusion and resistance, Ori closed his eyes, his mouth dropping open a little, and Bilbo’s forefinger slid in to its first joint. He held it steady, feeling his heartbeat in his own ring and remembering the startling pleasure and strangeness of his first time. Ori moaned softly, his lips trembling.

‘All right?’

‘Oh, yes... oh, how funny it feels!’

‘I’ll keep still for as long as you like.’

‘Oh, no, no, I want you to keep pushing it in! I want to know how it will feel!’ Ori grabbed a fold of the blanket and pressed it to his mouth as Bilbo pressed deeper, feeling the slick heat of his inside wrap and hug his finger. ‘Wiggle it round!’ Ori blurted out.

‘Like this?’ The movement drew a heartfelt moan, of pleasure if Bilbo was any judge, though he did think he should be quite sure of that before venturing further. ‘Would you like me to push it in and out a bit?’

Ori gave a high-pitched ‘Mmm!,’ nodding his head frantically with his lips pressed tightly shut.

‘There... how’s that? Is your bum happy?’

‘Mmm!’

‘I thought so. It’s sucking my finger like a sweet.’ He thrust it steadily in and out, feeling the muscles of Ori’s ring flicker and loosen. ‘Would you like two fingers?’

‘Please...’ 

He worked patiently, as Ori gasped and hitched his bottom upward, until he had the opening stretched around three bunched fingers, and knew very clearly where Ori’s sweetest spot was and the glorious sound he made when it was rubbed, first lightly, then increasingly firmly. He felt awfully tempted to try to work the rest of his hand in, as he had with Thorin, but on reflection, that should be saved for later. It wasn’t what Ori was expecting, and might, after all, be too much for him. Still, he was wonderfully receptive.

Keeping the three fingers embedded, he shuffled forward, his weight on the other arm, and kissed Ori’s slack, panting mouth. It took a little effort to raise a response, coaxing his lips to return the pressure.

‘How are you, sweetheart?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Mmm isn’t really an answer.’

‘I’m very very well,’ Ori breathed.

‘Ready for me to pop it in?’

‘Yes _pleeeeease.’_

‘I don’t think this will hurt at all - but I’ll be very gentle just to be sure.’ He eased his cock in with the help of a generous drizzle of oil, and rested, panting, on his knees and clutching Ori’s hips. He could feel tremors running through him, and both his hands were tightly knotted in the blanket. ‘Are you all right, Ori?’

There was no answer, and Ori’s breathing was fast and shallow, and he felt just a trace nervous. ‘Are you all right? Does this hurt? I’ll take it out at once if you’re not comfortable.’ He waited. ‘Please say something, Ori.’ After another pause, he tried ‘If you don’t say anything back, I’ll have to take it out because I’m a bit worried about you.’

‘Oh, please, don’t!’

‘That’s better.’ Bilbo bent low, pressing into Ori’s twitching flesh, and kissed his cheek. ‘You went so quiet.’

‘It’s so _glorious_ I felt as if... I just wanted to feel it and nothing else...’ It was plainly difficult for Ori to string words together, and he let out a low, shaky wail as Bilbo rubbed his hips against his soft, narrow bottom. ‘I feel all strange and dark and floaty.’

‘So really, truly, are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes very... I just want you to hold me very tight so I don’t float off.’

‘Very tight, I promise. Here, give me your hand.’ His own warm, oily fingers interlaced with Ori’s dry ones and were gripped fast. ‘You’re so lovely, Ori. And we’ll find as many people to fuck you as you want.’ He felt Ori moan and roll his hips, stirring a deep luscious tug deep in his belly. ‘They’ll line up for you. Let’s just... ah... let’s rock back and forth a bit, together. I can’t go very fast. I’ll come right off if I do.’

They began a long, slow rocking, Ori growing gradually more lively, pressing his hips back firmly with breathy little grunts. The rain grew heavier outside, a dull wet roaring above them, and Bilbo gripped Ori’s hand until his knuckles were yellow-white.

‘Tell me,’ he panted, ‘tell me when I reach it.’ He shifted the angle of his hips, seeking the tender place his fingers had worked over, until Ori gave the same warbling cry and he knew how to direct his stroke. ‘Good?’

‘Gah - good!’ He snatched a fold of the blanket between his teeth, grinding down on it as he crammed himself back against Bilbo’s thrusts. His muffled cries grew louder as he shuddered, his knees digging into the mattress, feet clenching and scrabbling, until he gave a last great moan and collapsed, his hips twitching.

Bilbo sank down on his back, rolling downhill to a gentler climax, and lay as soft and limp as a fresh pancake, feeling Ori’s breathing race until it steadied. He absently stroked Ori’s hand with his thumb, their fingers loose now.

‘Ahhh...’ Ori sighed. ‘It feels so _strange.’_

‘Does it?’

‘To have you on me, and in me, and both of us all sweaty and wet and stuck together. Oh, it’s the loveliest thing.’

They lay and drowsed as the rain poured down.


	22. Mixed Berries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bofur joins in, because everything's better with Bofur.

At length Bilbo roused himself, peeled himself away from Ori and rolled off the bed. He padded about poking at the little stove, heating water and giving himself a careful spot wash, before returning to the bed with a basin of water and a cloth, to gently clean Ori up. Ori murmured faintly at this, lifting his bottom to make it easier, and rolling onto his back when Bilbo had finished. He had made a fine wet patch on the blanket under him, and Bilbo went on to wipe the remnants from his belly and groin.

‘I feel a bit like a baby when you do that,’ Ori said, though his placid, moony-eyed expression suggested that he didn’t mind it.

‘You are most definitely not a baby today. You’re a fine young man of the dwarvish variety and it was a great honour to initiate you in the ways of... carrying on,’ Bilbo said, slightly losing momentum towards the end of his sentence. He poured the cloudy water away down the little sink and clambered back onto the bed.

Ori gave a contented little grunt and sigh, stretching out his legs and extending his arms over his head before relaxing again, loose-limbed and tranquil. ‘I hoped and hoped that I would like it, and I do, ever so much. I think I could do that every day.’

‘Come and get in under the covers,’ Bilbo suggested. They curled up together, close by necessity, and he carefully unpicked one of Ori’s plaits that had become half-unravelled and entirely tangled. His progress was slightly impeded by Ori’s need to kiss him every few seconds.

‘Peach face,’ he murmured again. ‘May I call you peach face always?’

‘I think so. Would you like to be sweetheart?’ He was getting the hang of pet names, he felt, and sweetheart seemed fitting for dear little Ori. 

‘I don’t know,’ Ori said, crinkling his nose. ‘Sweetheart sounds like a girl. I don’t think it suits me.’

‘Peach face sounds like a piece of fruit,’ Bilbo observed, smiling. ‘Very well, then. Would you like to be fruit too? My plum, my strawberry? My little apricot?’

‘Oh, pshh,’ said Ori, looking very pleased.

‘My nectarine. My nect-Ori-ne.’ He laughed as Ori gathered him into a close hug, nuzzling into the side of his neck. ‘Or is that too silly? Perhaps you could be... no, you said _I_ was the saveloy.’

‘Only your willy,’ Ori murmured indistinctly.

‘Duckling,’ Bilbo said, more or less at random. ‘Crumpet.’ He tried to remember some of Bofur’s suggestions. ‘Poppet... posset... er, winkle!’

‘Not a _winkle.’_  

‘Sausage.’

‘All right, sausage.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sausage,’ Bilbo repeated fondly, and very readily returned to kissing. Ori’s erection was returning, prodding at his thighs and tummy, and he wanted nothing so much as to open up to it. He was about to suggest it when there came a tap at the door.

Ori froze, wide-eyed. ‘Who’s that?’ he whispered.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll go and see.’ Bilbo kissed him on the nose and clambered over him to get out of bed and reach the door. ‘Hello?’ he said, raising his voice slightly. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Only me.’ It was Bofur’s voice. ‘Just wanted to make sure you were all right. Need a cup of tea or anything?’

‘We’re fine. Thank you, treasure.’ He looked back to Ori, who was sitting up with the covers pulled up to his chin. ‘It’s all right. Just Bofur being friendly.’

‘Oh,’ said Ori, letting the blanket down to his waist. He nibbled his lip a moment, then suggested, ‘He could come in, if he’d like.’

‘Really?’ Bilbo drew back the bolt and opened the door an inch. ‘I say, Ori says you can come in if you’d like. Would you like?’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Bofur said readily. He popped his head in as Bilbo drew the door wider. ‘All right, Ori?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Ori said, blushing and looking up from under his brows. ‘I - I wanted to say thank you for sharing Bilbo with me.’

‘He’s a treat, isn’t he?’ Bofur smiled, coming into the room properly, Bilbo closing the door beside him. He moved at an easy, ambling pace, his thumbs hooked in his belt, all affable and soothing for the benefit of any nervousness or embarrassment Ori might still feel. ‘And just right for a beginner.’

Ori’s blush deepened, but he smiled, his lower lip caught under his teeth. ‘We’ve, um, we’ve just done It.’

Bofur grinned. ‘Congratulations!’

It was, Bilbo thought, a distinctly peculiar conversation, but on the whole he was very pleased that it was so amicable. He nudged past Bofur and climbed back onto the bed, perhaps swaying his bare bottom from side to side slightly more than he needed to. ‘I’m feeling quite pleased with myself!’ he announced, plumping himself down to sit cross-legged.

‘So you should.’ Bofur leaned in to kiss him, lightly at first, then more lavishly. That must be for Ori’s benefit, Bilbo thought, but he very much enjoyed this sort of treatment, having his lips licked and nipped, delicately trapped and stretched between Bofur’s front teeth. He was conscious of Ori watching them, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, not in shock but seemingly in an effort to take in as much as possible. 

Bofur drew back, glanced towards Ori, and gave a soft little laugh, shaking his head. ‘Sorry. It’s your turn with him, I shouldn’t interfere.’

‘No, you can, um - you’re not interfering,’ Ori said quickly. ‘That is, I was wondering - it’s really why I asked you in - I was wondering if you’d like to join in. It would be nice for you, wouldn’t it, Bilbo?’

‘Of course it would - and would it be nice for you, too? That’s important.’

‘Very. I - I thought between the two of you, you know, you could help me learn to, um, to be on top, because Bilbo, you can tell me what to do, and Bofur, you can, um, you can demonstrate.’ He smiled hopefully. 

‘Aah,’ said Bofur, eyes crinkling merrily. ‘Now that’s a good idea. Clever. Practical.’ He boosted himself to sit on the bed beside Bilbo. ‘How would you like that, pet?’

‘I’d be delighted. Ori, would you like Bofur just to touch _me,_ to show you how it’s done, or to kiss you and touch you too?’

‘Oh, me too!’ Ori said hastily.

‘Well, lucky old me,’ Bofur said, his smile broadening. ‘Are you inviting me?’

‘Yes. Please. Will you? Kiss me, and the rest of it?’ His hands were eagerly pleating the edges of the blanket together.

‘And help you learn to fuck Bilbo the way he needs?’

‘Yes. _Please.’_

‘Right you are.’ Bofur leaned over and pressed a whiskery kiss to the corner of Ori’s mouth. ‘I can see I’ll have my work cut out to satisfy the two of you. Good job I had a big breakfast.’

‘If you should get peckish, I’ve got cheese and crackers and apples in the basket under the bed,’ Bilbo said. ‘I thought we might need a little something after a while.’

‘That is one of the many things I like about you, Bilbo Baggins.’ Bofur gave him a friendly pat on the thigh. ‘Right. I’ll get my kit off, shall I?’

‘Could I undress you?’ Ori asked. ‘I did Bilbo, and I really enjoyed it.’ He rose on his knees, shuffling towards Bofur, and as the covers slipped down from his lap his cock bobbed up, wagging stiffly. ‘Oh,’ he said, and made an entirely inadequate effort to cover it with his hands.

Bofur gave an admiring whistle. ‘That’s a prick and a half.’

Ori had been flushed all along, but now his cheeks were crimson. He managed to smile, and said ‘I’m not quite used to other people seeing it in this state.’

‘Well, I’m sure Bofur will tell you what I did: it’s a beauty and you should be proud of it,’ Bilbo said firmly.

‘It’s a smasher,’ Bofur said. ‘Come on then, Ori.’ He pushed himself back towards the wall, so that Ori could kneel astride his lap. ‘Waggle it this way.’

‘Right.’ Ori edged over to straddle his legs, and carefully lifted off his hat. He handed it off to Bilbo, who made a show of dusting it and hung it on the bedpost. As Ori unlaced the neck of his tunic, Bofur sat back, calm and cheerful, his smile half veiled by his drooping moustache and his crinkled eyes flicking appreciatively up and down Ori’s body. Bilbo felt a warm glow of affection for the way he was setting the boy at his ease in such little, friendly, quiet ways. He lifted his arms to let Ori pull the tunic off over his head, and when it was off and Ori’s arms were still raised holding it, placed his hands either side of his narrow face and kissed him again, soft and warm. Ori gave a little murmur and nuzzled in, his eyes drifting closed as he draped his forearms on Bofur’s shoulders. He continued to duck in for kisses as he took off Bofur’s shirt and unbuttoned the top half of his many-darned combinations.

By the time he reached the drawstring of the baggy Lake-town trousers, he had clearly got his confidence up, and yanked it undone as if he were opening his birthday present. Bilbo helped him to tug them down and throw them to the floor, along with the combinations and Bofur’s boots. One recalcitrant sock stayed on, but nobody minded that.

‘You’re getting frisky now,’ Bofur chuckled. He pulled Bilbo into his arms and kissed him soundly. ‘Don’t forget it’s you we’re meant to be fucking.’ In a complicated manoeuvre, he managed to nudge Ori to one side and roll Bilbo onto his back against the pillow, pressing him down with deeper kisses.

‘I - ooh - I haven’t forgot - mmm...’ Bilbo twined one hand into Bofur’s plaits and gave a little tug. ‘Don’t _you_ forget you’re teaching Ori how it’s done.’

‘Come on, then, Ori,’ Bofur said, with a lopsided smile, pushing himself up on his hands and knees, leaning to one side to let Ori in. ‘Help me get him warmed up. This one loves a kiss and a cuddle.’

‘Oh, I know _that.’_ Ori nestled in on the other side and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s neck.

‘Can you do that and see what I’m showing you?’ Bofur asked. He shuffled back on his knees and slid his hands under Bilbo’s thighs, lifting and parting them. ‘Get an eyeful of this.’

‘Are you showing me off?’ Bilbo asked, wriggling his bottom forward for comfort and placing his hands behind his knees. 

‘Yep. This is my favourite bum in all the world. Two suety dumplings.’ He pressed them apart with both hands. ‘Now Ori, you’ll find he opens up as easily as you could wish. Some of us need a lot of fingering first, but Bilbo, well, Bilbo’s easy.’ He sucked his forefinger and pressed it into Bilbo’s ring, drawing a gasp and a squirm.

‘That doesn’t hurt, does it?’ Ori asked.

‘Oh, no,’ Bilbo breathed. ‘Don’t tease, now, treasure.’

‘Nice, isn’t it?’

‘It’s _so_ nice.’ He rocked himself lightly onto Bofur’s finger, though the lack of oil made it less comfortable than it might have been. ‘Ori... if you oil your finger you could pop it in too.’

‘Right,’ Ori said, eyes bright. He fumbled with the bottle, getting his whole hand slippery, and nipped his lower lip as he pressed one fingertip alongside Bofur’s.

‘That’s good. Share the oil. Rub around my finger... here, look at Bilbo’s face. He loves it, doesn’t he? Now don’t be shy. You can push harder. There we are.’

Bilbo caught his breath with a little squeak as Ori’s finger slid in; he felt a momentary pinch, but it was rapidly overwhelmed by fluttery pleasure. 

‘Now he’s got the two of us inside him,’ Bofur said, grinning. ‘Look at that greedy little bumhole twitching.’

‘It’s so stretchy,’ Ori exclaimed, his face alight with discovery.

‘Just think how snug that’s going to feel around your cock, sliding and hugging and sucking.’ Bofur nuzzled against Ori’s ruddy cheek. ‘Want me to show you how to put it in?’

‘Oh, yes, please. Bilbo, is that all right?’

‘Absolutely.’ 

‘Ori, would you do the honours?’ Bofur gestured into his lap with his free hand. ‘Get my cock ready. Slick all over.’

‘Ooh. All right.’ Ori dribbled oil along the back of Bofur’s stiffening cock and set to work spreading and rubbing.

‘That’s grand. You’ve got good hands... nice and soft... getting me all hard for Bilbo. Give us a kiss? Mmm... good boy.’ Bilbo somehow thought Ori would object to that endearment, but he met it with another kiss, eager and effusive. Their fingers were still inside him, stroking against each other, thick and strong.

‘Oh... please...’ he moaned. ‘Are you ready yet?’

‘No rush,’ Bofur said. ‘We’re _learning_ today.’ He gave Ori a conspiratorial little smile. ‘Want to see how it’s done?’ Ori nodded avidly. ‘All right, then, fingers out. You shuffle in close. Give him a kiss.’ He matched deed to word, and paused a moment, his forehead against Bilbo’s, looking fondly into his eyes. ‘Enjoy how he looks, wanting you. Take your cock in your hand, just so, and line it up... and just push it in. Nice steady push. Ooh.’ For a few moments, he forgot his pupil, working himself deep into Bilbo’s warmth. ‘How do you want it, pet?’ he breathed.

‘Deep and slow and hard,’ Bilbo squeaked. ‘Oh...’

‘Mmm.’ Bofur brought their mouths together, gripping Bilbo’s thighs so that he could free his hands to wrap around his shoulders, and ground into him. Bilbo shivered, revelling in the deep, plunging sensation, the way Bofur filled and stretched him, the heat and scent of his skin and his hair and the soft wet friction of his lips and tongue. They rocked together, the motion forcing little grunts and puffs out of him.

Bofur lifted his head, reluctantly. ‘Oh... see, Ori?’

Ori nodded, his mouth hanging open, and the motion made his cock nod too, crimson-headed and leaking.

‘Want to try? Oil yourself. I’ll just give him a few... more... strokes.’ He sighed, drawing back unwillingly. ‘Right... scuse me, Bilbo. Here, Ori, kneel here. Hold yourself. It’s all right, try again.’ Ori’s first effort at penetration had slid off against Bilbo’s balls. ‘You can brace it straight with your finger if you want. There you are! Head in! How’s that, Bilbo?’

Bilbo could not speak for panting, but he nodded his head vigorously, making little beckoning motions with both hands.

‘Now lean in. That’s good. I’ve got you if you slip. Just a bit at a time... are you sure you haven’t done this before? No? You’re just a natural then. Good lad.’ His hand moved soothingly up and down Ori’s back as he sank in. ‘Now I don’t think you’ll fit the whole thing just yet... say when, Bilbo.’

‘More... more.... oh, when.’ There were a couple of inches still outside him, and he thought with time and patience they would be able to work those in too, but he was in no mood to make a special effort, only to lie here so deliciously full. Ori had stopped, trembling, his eyes screwed shut. ‘Oh, Ori!’

‘That is _so_ good,’ Bofur was murmuring. ‘And you’re doing that. I’m not touching him. How d’you feel?’

‘Oh... oh... I’m... I think I’m going to come.’ The words slipped out from between clenched teeth. 

‘Don’t worry. Come if you want to.’

‘Come,’ Bilbo echoed. ‘Come inside me, all inside me.’

‘I think I... think I can move it a bit,’ Ori breathed, and attempted a shaky thrust that drew a soft moan from Bilbo. He gathered Ori into his arms, holding him close, arms and legs around him as he began to pump his hips, breathing raggedly by his ear. ‘Izzat good?’

‘So good... oh heavens above, you’re so big!’

‘You’re so _soft.’_ His stroke was quickening and stuttering, his hips slapping against Bilbo’s soft bottom. Bofur’s stroking hand steadied him, put strength into him, until it moved down to rub his bum. ‘Yes! There! Like that!’ With a thick finger jammed firmly between his buttocks, he convulsed, twitching and gasping, spurting a torrent into Bilbo’s depths. He slumped down onto Bilbo’s tummy, rubber-limbed and glowing with heat and joy. 

_‘What_ a good fuck,’ Bofur said fondly, sliding his hand back up Ori’s spine to grasp and knead the nape of his neck. ‘You’ve done yourself proud.’

‘Oh... mmm...’ Ori stirred himself enough to kiss Bilbo wetly.

‘Think you can move?’ Bofur asked. ‘I’d like to finish off.’

‘Oh...’ Ori levered himself off and fell on his back beside Bilbo, panting, as Bofur shuffled in and took his place.

‘Squish,’ he murmured as he slid in. ‘It’s pouring out of you, Bilbo.’

‘Shh.’

‘Feels nice, though. Feels as if you’ve had two or three before me.’ He covered Bilbo, drawing his legs over his shoulders, and pressed in for a kiss. ‘Love you,’ he whispered.

‘Welcome back,’ Bilbo replied.

‘Still deep and hard and slow?’

‘Mmmm...’ As Bofur rolled into him, he groped sideways with one hand, patting blindly at Ori’s shoulder. Ori took his hand and kissed it, and held tight as they rode each other, sighing, gasping and grunting, until they were satisfied and still, just drowsily nuzzling at one another’s nose and lips.

‘Oh... off me, please,’ Bilbo had to say, eventually. ‘I’m getting all cramped.’

‘Sorry, pet.’ Bofur gave him one last kiss on the forehead and pulled back, letting him lower his legs. There was no room to lie three abreast, so he chose to shift down to lie with his head towards the foot of the bed, his feet chummily entangled with Bilbo’s and Ori’s. ‘And that, Ori, is how it’s done.’

Ori rolled towards Bilbo and kissed his cheek, stroking his chest with one light, gentle hand. ‘I’ll try to do it better next time. Give you a really good... go.’

‘Oh, I know you will.’

‘You looked really, really good, you know. I could describe it so much better if I was writing it, I could find the right words and get them all in the right order, but I hope you don’t think I sound too stupid when that’s all I can say.’

‘I don’t think you’re stupid at all.’

‘Your face all rosy, and your body bouncing, and oh, the look on your face, like... like... d’you know, there’s a word for the sound of bells ringing, it’s tintinnabulation, that’s one of my favourite words and one of my favourite sounds, it’s so joyful and huge and clanging... the look on your face was like the feeling of that word. And like bells ringing. I’m not describing it well at all.’ 

‘Makes sense to me,’ Bofur said, from his end of the bed. He popped his head up, eyes twinkling. ‘How’d I look? Go on, you can tell me I’m gorgeous.’

‘Stop showing off,’ Bilbo said, giving his feet a little shove with his own. ‘Be a lamb and warm up the water again.’

‘Baa-aa,’ said Bofur, swinging his legs off the bed. 

They cleaned each other, laid a folded towel over the wet, sticky patch on the bottom sheet, and had a sort of bed-picnic of apples and cheese, eating slices laid together from one another’s fingers. Ori turned giggly and rolled from Bofur to Bilbo, seeking and giving kisses and caresses and long, tight hugs during which he rubbed his long nose against their cheeks and necks in sheer delight at having people to touch this way, and being so very welcome to do it. When the crumbs had been swept away he lay down beside Bilbo for a nap, arms around him, looking up at him with shining but drowsy eyes. 

‘Can we do it again later?’ he asked. ‘With you fucking me, I mean?’

‘Course we can,’ said Bofur, settling down at the other end of the bed. ‘Till your bum’s sore, if you like.’

‘I want to learn to suck you off, too. I want to get _good_ at it. Will you both help me?’

‘Ooh, no,’ said Bilbo. ‘That sounds too much like hard work.’ He smiled and kissed Ori’s forehead. ‘Besides, I absolutely hate having sweet randy boys nuzzling and licking and sucking my cock trying to make me come. I avoid it like the plague.’

‘Mmmm.’ Ori squeezed him tight again, relaxing after a moment into comfort. The rain drummed down, lulling them all into gentle sleep.


	23. Crumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for this being so short. I'm struggling to write, not because I don't have ideas for the story or care about what happens next; I just lack inspiration and flow somehow. Perhaps it's because I know they'll have to set out soon.

Bilbo spent the next couple of days exceedingly, pleasantly busy. He had enough experience to recognise Ori’s passion for both him and Bofur as infatuation, a combination of attraction and gratitude and sheer pleasure, and to enjoy it while it lasted, knowing that it would pass off. In the meantime, he was woken in the mornings with ardent kisses (and, after Ori asked permission the night before, the kisses were applied directly to his cock). His little red book was kept exceedingly full as he apportioned his time between Ori and Bofur, who conveniently were happy to share and very keen on one another, and Thorin and Dwalin, with occasional promises to Nori that he would fit him in as soon as he was able. It quite prevented him thinking about the reality of resuming the journey towards the mountain, except in a few wakeful moments very late at night or early in the morning. Those moments were easily dispelled by snuggling against the warm stocky bodies always encircling him.

It would have been not merely a testament to Ori’s powers of discretion and dissimulation (he was certainly taking great care to keep the whole thing a secret, because it was _his_ secret just for him) but a near miracle if Dori had not noticed what was going on. That he did not notice was accounted for by what seemed like a near miracle in itself: Balin had apparently decided that now was the time to go courting, and that Dori was just the dwarf he was looking for.

Bofur and Bilbo first learned of this one morning when they were soaking in the bath, Ori having temporarily left them for the allure of a romp with Fili and Kili. Nori walked into the bathroom looking dazed and announced ‘It’s all up.’

‘What is?’ Bofur asked, pouring a palmful of water over Bilbo’s tummy. 

‘Everything! Or down, or sideways, or I don’t know what. My brother’s got a suitor!’

‘Well, he _is_ very keen, and I’m glad if someone sees how sweet he is,’ Bilbo said.

‘My _elder_ brother.’

‘Well, bugger me days,’ said Bofur.

‘My goodness, who?’

‘That’s the topper. It’s Balin. They are right this minute in the parlour, having tea and little cakes together, and - and simpering.’ Nori sat down on the stool that they used to step up to the bathtub.

‘I thought you said Balin wasn’t interested in that sort of thing?’ Bilbo asked Bofur, rolling in the water to face him.

‘Clearly I don’t know the man,’ Bofur said, shrugging. ‘Fair play to him, I suppose he knows what he wants.’

‘Are you all right, Nori? You’re not upset about it, are you?’ Bilbo asked, peering over the side of the tub and trying not to drip on him, in case he _was_ upset.

‘I’m not _upset._ I’m just gobsmacked. I’d thought Dori would never - you know, that nobody would ever meet his exacting standards, the old fussbudget.’

‘D’you think it’s something in the water here in Lake-town?’ Bofur asked. ‘Making us all so... amorous?’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Nori said, shaking his head dismissively. ‘We were all randy buggers before we got here. Dori, though! Talk about a confirmed bachelor.’

‘Speaking as a confirmed bachelor myself, sometimes it’s for want of anybody suitable,’ Bilbo said. ‘If you don’t meet the sort of person you fancy, or when you do they don’t fancy you, what are you to do?’

‘They’ve known each other for years though, surely,’ said Bofur.

‘Perhaps Balin just feels the time is finally right, then - or at least, that the time isn’t going to get any better, so if he wants to do anything about it he’d jolly well better hurry up.’

‘Before the battle,’ Nori grunted. ‘That’s usually for a quick fuck for courage, though, not for tea and cakes and “my lad” and “oh you flatterer”.’

‘I do hope it doesn’t come to _battle,’_ Bilbo squeaked, his worries about the dragon coming back in a cold rush, despite the hot water lapping around him.

‘Me too,’ Nori said. ‘I can’t be arsed. There’s been enough fighting on this trip already, and precious little profit.’ He gave a heavy sigh.

‘Hop in and soak it out,’ Bofur suggested. 

‘We’ll spoil you and wash your hair,’ Bilbo offered. Nori so seldom took his hair out of its elaborate structure that he considered it a treat to see it all - the most astonishing waterfall of hair, long enough to sit on. His own hair was getting overgrown and brushing his collar, and he supposed he should trim it one day when he remembered.

‘Ah, go on, then,’ said Nori. He undid his hair with great precision, carefully removing and laying aside the rats that supported the three crests, before he would let Bilbo touch it, and kept his beard bound up, for as he said, if he let it all out at once the three of them would never be seen again, lost in it even deeper than they had been in Mirkwood. Bilbo washed it for him in a little tub, massaging his scalp in the way Bofur claimed was proof against all life’s troubles, and it did seem to cheer Nori up. With his wet hair wrapped up in a towel, he joined them in the bath and he and Bofur passed Bilbo back and forth between them for kissing and squeezing purposes.

‘Your arse looks as good as new now,’ Nori remarked, his hard fingers pressing deep, squashy dents into Bilbo’s rump.

‘Like kneading dough,’ Bofur added, adding his hand to Bilbo’s tummy. 

‘I’ve always needed dough.’

‘Oh, that was awful,’ Bilbo protested, twining his arms around Nori’s neck and nipping his lower lip. ‘You brutes.’

‘We’re brutes,’ Bofur agreed readily. ‘Want us to rough you up a bit?’

‘Ummm... ooh, it’s tempting... but you know, I’m supposed to have my tattoo done at last this afternoon, and I don’t want to be sore already.’

‘Ah, bugger,’ Nori said. ‘I’d offer to do it for you - I’d _love_ to do it for you - but if I’m honest I wouldn’t do anything like as good a job as Oin will.’ He settled himself back against the side of the bathtub, draping one elbow over the rim, though he kept the other arm loosely around Bilbo’s waist. ‘Can’t wait to watch.’ He waggled his eyebrows.

‘I think you should ham it up a bit for Nori,’ Bofur said, settling in on Bilbo’s other side so that he was neatly sandwiched between them. ‘Whimper, squeeze out a few tears if you can.’

‘O Nori! It hurts so much,’ Bilbo whimpered obligingly. ‘I’ve rehearsed, you see? Though I don’t know if I can force tears.’

‘Might not have to force them,’ Nori said, and gave his nipple a friendly pinch, causing Bilbo to give an indignant gasp and tug on his beard. ‘Little piglet, squealing.’

‘You should watch out, or I’ll sit here and give Bofur a lovely handy and there’ll be none for you.’

‘Oh _no.’_

‘Well, I tell you what, I’ll do you both, but you only get my left hand.’

‘That’s fine by me,’ Nori said.

‘And we’ll twiddle your tits and rub your tum and tug you off with _two_ hands,’ Bofur added. This was exactly what they did, the three of them exchanging kisses and nips, grunts and sighs, their breathing becoming more laboured until first Nori, then Bilbo, and finally Bofur tensed and spent. 

‘Look at your cloud in the water,’ Bilbo said, smiling and pointing out the blobs of spunk beginning to dissolve and blend away.

‘Mine was biggest,’ Nori said smugly.

‘Oh, yes, yes, yours was a big creamy squirt.’ Bilbo patted Nori’s arm affectionately, before resting his head on Bofur’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. ‘Ohh... I _am_ a lucky fellow.’ He felt Bofur kiss the top of his head, and rubbed back against his nose and lips. All around him was warmth and pleasure and comfort.

At length, they got out of the bath, drained it and wrapped themselves up in towels, though they felt little inclined to dress themselves properly. Nori demonstrated his mastery of the damp towel as a whip, flicking it at Bilbo’s bottom to make him jump and yelp.

‘Hey, Nori,’ Bofur said, pulling up his combinations, ‘d’you think Dori’d like it if we said congratulations? Or would that be a bit too soon?’

‘I’d bide my time,’ Nori said, and flicked Bilbo again, causing him to caper and rub his bottom ruefully, though the towel raised only a pink spot that quickly faded. ‘Don’t want to count any chickens. He’s been disappointed before.’

‘Oh, really?’ Bilbo asked. ‘Poor old Dori.’ He thought little more of it, though, as his thoughts turned again to the tattoo. When he eventually lay on a bed in the older dwarves’ room, and Oin set to work with his fine steel needle, he did not have to force tears for Nori’s benefit; his eyes watered freely at the sharp stinging, and the expanding dull, throbbing soreness as the flesh around the little punctures grew bruised. He had thought he should be able to feel how much of the tattoo was done, by feeling the lines of its design traced, the same as when he and Bofur wrote messages on each other’s backs with their forefingers, but he could not keep track of it at all. When he thought it must be more than half done, and asked Oin, who held up a mirror to let him see how far they were along, he found to his dismay that it was only a third complete, if that.

Bofur held and rubbed his hand, and chatted away to him about an adventure his grandfather had had when he was a young dwarf, with, he had always claimed, some mysterious wandering ladies who were half trees. When he went to get Bilbo a cup of tea, his place was taken by Nori, who squeezed his hand tight, and when Oin was not paying attention, brushed a tear from his cheek with one finger and popped it in his mouth, winking at Bilbo.

At long last, and after three cups of tea and permission to stop for a few minutes to go to the lavatory, Oin laid down his needle, wiped the skin clean, and announced that he was done.

‘I’ll give you some cream for it. Put it on morning and night, and keep a soft bandage on it. It’ll itch like fury once it starts healing, but don’t you scratch it. Slap it if you have to. And no baths - you spend too much time stewing anyway, it saps the humours. Just have a stand-up wash, top and tail.’

Bilbo was rather sorry that he had to keep the new mark covered, but he had a good look at it that night before bed, when he changed the bandage, gently washed the skin and smoothed on more of the cooling cream. It looked very blotchy and ugly, but Bofur assured him that was normal and it would be grand once it settled down. Ori also pronounced it a success, and when he went to bed with Thorin and Dwalin they received it with praise and enthusiasm. He fell asleep nestled between them, sticky and sweaty and contented, with the rain drumming on the roof once again.


	24. Brandy Snaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if brandy snaps are well known in America (where most people of the internet seem to come from). Wikipedia has your back: 'Brandy snaps are a popular snack or dessert food in the British Isles, Australia and New Zealand. They are edible, tubular, brittle, sweet, baked casings that are typically 10 cm long and 2 cm in diameter. They are sometimes served filled with whipped cream.  
> They are commonly made from a mixture of golden syrup, flour, ginger, cream, sugar and butter and are baked briefly as a flat disc that is then rolled while still hot and soft. They do not contain brandy.  
> Anyway, here's a little Origy for you.

_One of the major criticisms of the foregoing portion of the text, and its potential authenticity, is the length of time apparently spent in Lake-town before setting off for the Lonely Mountain. It must be noted that the canonical text does not specify a length of time other than ‘a fortnight,’ and that this covers only the period until Thorin decides to move on. We do not know how long it took, after this decision, to make ready and depart; nor do we know how accurate Bilbo’s recollection of times taken was, possibly writing many years after the fact._

_It should also be borne in mind that only two primary sources exist for these events, the Red Book of Westmarch, written and compiled by Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, and the Quest of Erebor, whose authorship is uncertain but sometimes attributed to Ori (most likely a collaboration in the dwarvish oral tradition). It is entirely possible that both texts were edited by either their own authors or a later hand, to protect the privacy of those concerned or to sanitise a narrative which could otherwise be an embarrassment to their heirs._

_It will become apparent that the following fragments diverge wildly from the officially accepted version of events. Given the impossibility of knowing for certain what happened, we are left with two chief possibilities: these documents are genuine and some person or persons, for some reason, executed a massive cover-up not merely of the personal lives of the Company but of major political and military events of the period, or they represent simple wishful thinking and fantasy, whether by a wistful older Baggins or by a pseudo-Baggins who wished to create an alternative history._

_Due to the destruction or loss of certain dwarvish records in both the invasion of Moria and the sudden eruption of a geyser in the great library of Erebor, we do not have any other documentation to directly contradict this version of events. This represents one of the great ongoing challenges of scholarship of this period, and extensive correspondence on the subject is anticipated. - Ed._

 

With their departure looming, Bilbo chose to distract himself from his burgeoning dragon-nerves by organising a last hurrah, a grand orgy to celebrate Ori’s début. It was a debatable début, since he had by now been to bed with both Bilbo and Bofur, and Fili and Kili, several times each, but Fili made the case quite persuasively that they had just been his tutors and mentors, preparing him for a true début in which he would be presented to the King.

The brothers threw themselves into Ori’s toilette for the great occasion, bathing and scenting him and elaborately dressing his hair. They even oiled and preened his pubic curls, though the cosmetic benefits of this treatment were unclear to Bilbo, and fastened tiny golden beads (which had been gifts from the Master of Lake-town, very likely not for any such use) in a sunburst below his navel. Ori blushed and squirmed and beamed his way through the grooming, his heavy cock bobbing before him in various states of hardness. He had declared his intention not to touch it at all for twenty-four hours before the party, though he broke this resolution frequently, then snatched his hands away and smiled sheepishly. He had, at least, managed not to come for the duration.

After checking on the grooming in progress in the bathroom, Bilbo hurried back to the large bedroom, where Bofur was arranging the decorations they had made, paper garlands of perky cocks that they had giggled over as they cut them out and strung them together. Ori had made several large watercolour pictures, portraits from life of his new lovers, and fantasy images of the others, which Bilbo pinned up on the two walls framing the big bed they had created by pushing three together in a corner.

‘That’s proper art, that is,’ Bofur said, admiring the picture of a bare-chested Dwalin standing atop a pile of slain goblins with his axes crossed over his shoulders. Ori had added himself, half kneeling, half sitting on the heap and hugging Dwalin’s thigh.  ‘He should do that one in oils.’ He was bare-chested himself, in his combinations and socks, the top half of his woollens unbuttoned and the sleeves knotted about his waist.

‘Oh yes, and hang it in the great hall?’ Bilbo straightened the corner of a lavish rendering of himself masturbating in a bowl of trifle and stuck in a pin. While Bofur had chosen to be topless, he was bottomless, his shirt-tails fluttering about his thighs as he jumped down from the bed. He had had a nip of some very nice apple brandy from the merchant’s cellar and was feeling quite frisky.

‘Maybe one of the lesser halls,’ Bofur conceded, smiling. He slung an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and bumped his hip against his side. Bilbo bumped back and leaned against him contentedly. ‘Now you won’t mind not being the centre of attention this time, will you? ‘Cos it is still the Bilbo Baggins Appreciation Society.’

‘I think I’ll cope.’

The Society gathered after dinner, chatting and sipping wine and ale, the air in the room growing warm with intention. The non-members had elected to spend the evening at a musical reception held by one of Lake-town’s prominent citizens, the only exceptions being Balin and Dori. Balin had casually and discreetly suggested to Thorin that, as he would not be spending the evening in his private bedroom, he might perhaps like to lend it to an old friend and that old friend’s new sweetheart, who had not yet had an evening all to themselves and would like the opportunity to sit by the fire and chat with no-one else near. _If_ Thorin knew what he meant. Thorin knew.

The only founding member who was not present was Nori. He had excused himself politely, saying that he would be only too glad to rejoin the Society for functions that didn’t involve seeing his little brother cavorting in the nude, and had gone with the others to the reception. Bilbo was missing him rather, but expecting to forget that once the fun began. 

He clambered up onto the bed, to stand above the heads and shoulders of the guests, and clapped his hands together. ‘Hallo! I say, hallo, settle down. This is a special evening and I thank you all very much for coming.’ This got, as he expected, a ribald little laugh, the audience being primed for any sort of innuendo. ‘Fili, would you like to go and bring in the guest of honour?’

‘Right you are,’ said Fili, tossing back the last of his drinking-horn and going to the door. ‘Psst. Stop that and come in,’ he said, into the hallway, before standing back and opening the door wide. Kili entered first, looking slightly rumpled and rosy, followed by Ori, very rosy indeed and wrapped in a lavender silk dressing-gown. He was greeted by a wave of applause and a mighty wolf-whistle from Bofur.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and swinging his arms shyly. ‘Thank you for having me!’ That got a louder laugh, and Kili clapped him on the back, half-winding him. 

‘Now then!’ Bilbo cried, clapping his hands again. ‘This is Ori’s night and he’s to have whatever he wants - within reason. If anyone doesn’t feel comfortable of course they may sit this one out, but I know I’m very keen and I’m not the only one. Hop up here, Ori.’ He held out a hand to Ori and hauled him up as he clambered onto the bed, grinning with his lip trapped under his front teeth. ‘Bow to the gentlemen.’ 

‘At your service,’ Ori said, bobbing low, and they chorused in reply, ‘At yours!’

‘I, um, I want to say thank you very much to Bilbo and Bofur, and Fili and Kili, for teaching me and helping me so I can feel confident and have a lovely time tonight,’ Ori went on. ‘Don’t worry about me! I’m not afraid to try anything. Anything! I _love_ fucking and I mean to do it as much as I possibly can.’ His cheeks were crimson and his eyes were very bright, Bilbo noted, and the head of his cock was parting the front of his silk gown as if it were peeping out from between curtains. He beamed at the round of applause he got.

‘Right, then! Are you ready to be presented to his majesty?’ Bilbo beckoned to Thorin, who handed his cup to Dwalin and approached the bed.

‘Yes _please,’_ said Ori. 

‘I’ll be right here to help you,’ Bilbo said, a little lower, and Ori flashed him a grateful look. For all his excitement, he was nervous too. Thorin swung himself up onto the bed, the mattress dipping, and knelt comfortably. Ori dropped to his own knees, facing him, his face bright and earnest and his body quivering faintly.

‘Ori,’ Thorin said quietly, his voice warm. ‘Do you offer yourself freely and gladly?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Do you want to please me?’

‘Yes!’

‘And do you want me to fuck you?’ 

‘Yes,’ Ori said, his voice squeaking a little, but his eyes shining.

‘Then let me unwrap you,’ Thorin suggested. He reached out and pulled the loose end of Ori’s sash, unravelling the bow, letting his dressing-gown fall open. Bilbo knelt beside Ori, watching avidly, trying to imagine and enter into just what Ori felt now, as the new, ripe, ready boy, with this impossibly handsome dwarf-king so close to him, his bright blue gaze stroking over him. He hoped very much that Thorin really saw how lovely Ori was. This was a ceremony rather than a personal assignation but he wanted Ori to be appreciated and enjoyed just as much as he deserved. 

Thorin shuffled nearer, framed Ori’s face with his hands and kissed his mouth, softly and carefully, taking the measure of the exhilarated tension in his body. _Oh, yes, he’s in good hands,_ Bilbo thought, and he wrapped his own hand around Ori’s, giving an encouraging little squeeze.

It continued to feel like a ceremony or ritual - the ceremonial kissing, disrobing, Ori fulfilling his role in the social strata by the way he lay back, spreading his legs and offering his tender little bottom to his lord. He was clearly more nervous than ever, perhaps because it was Thorin, perhaps because of the audience, perhaps both. Bilbo snuggled in beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and resting his other hand on his chest, and kissed his cheek. 

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘It’s going to feel _so_ good. His cock has this lovely upward curve - it’ll hit you right on your diddle.’ This was how Ori had taken to describing the inside place he wanted rubbed and fucked, and Bilbo found it very endearing. _The ceremonial fingering,_ he thought, watching Thorin prepare Ori as if he were one of those heathen priests he had heard of in tales, ready to make a sacrifice. Ori’s breathing was fast and light and fluttery, and his fingers gripped the backs of his knees very tightly. He licked his lips again and again, and his tummy muscles flinched and flickered as Bilbo stroked over them. 

‘Then receive me, dear Ori,’ Thorin said at last, and pushed his thick cock in, working it up Ori’s snug passage with steady, deepening strokes. Ori gave out wavering cries, his hips hitching, until Thorin was fully embedded, clutching his thighs, and he fell silent except for ragged, rapid panting. ‘How’s that? All right?’

‘It’s so _big,’_ Ori whimpered, his eyes scrunched shut. 

_No bigger than Bofur’s,_ Bilbo thought, _and much the same as his nephews’._ Ori rolled his head over to press on Bilbo’s shoulder, and he felt a sudden intuition that he was playing this up on purpose, loving the _role_ of virginal boy offered up to the king so much that for the moment, he really _felt_ as if Thorin was his first.

‘Am I hurting you?’ Thorin asked, with a touch of concern.

‘No... oh... oh, it’s lovely... oh, my diddle...’

‘Diddle?’

‘He’s happy,’ Bilbo assured him. ‘Go on and fuck him.’ He held Ori, stroked his hair, kissed his forehead, as Thorin rode him, his stroke growing deeper, harder, faster, Ori’s cries and his grunts getting more urgent, until Thorin shook and growled and jerked his hips rapidly, pumping into Ori with the last of his climax.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘Thank you, Ori.’ Rather than slump down into his arms, as Bilbo thought he would have done with him, he pulled out and rocked back onto his heels, catching his breath. Ori reached down between his legs, exploring with his fingers. 

‘I’m all squishy,’ he breathed, his face aglow with satisfaction. ‘I’m all squishy and _fucked.’_

‘Who do you want next?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Oh! Dwalin!’ Ori struggled up onto his elbows, setting his feet down. ‘Can I, please?’

‘Are you sure, lad?’ Dwalin was watching from beside the bed, an odd, uncertain look on his face. ‘You know I’m... big.’

‘Please. I want it in me, you can’t think how I’ve been wanting you. I don’t care how big it is or even if it hurts, I want to be stuffed full of you.’

‘You heard the man,’ Bofur said, clapping Dwalin on the back. ‘Get up there and get stuck in.’

‘But can I suck you first? Please?’ Ori was sitting up now, his post-coital languor shaken off in a moment. ‘Oh, I want to suck you and you to rub your prick all over my face, and fuck my mouth, and, and - please? Can I?’

Dwalin was both glowering and blushing now, and he raised his hands defensively, palms out. ‘Look, take someone else first. One more, all right? Then we’ll see.’

‘All right,’ Ori said plaintively. 

‘I volunteer,’ Kili piped up. ‘I’ll loosen the purse-strings for you, Dwalin, and no mistake.’ He stepped forward, pushing his trousers down from his hips and letting his erection swing free. 

‘And Bilbo - are you just chaperoning, or would you like a go too?’ Fili asked.

‘I would _love_ a go,’ Bilbo replied, scooting himself to the edge of the bed. ‘Why don’t you have us both here? Come down, Ori. That’s right. You look lovely, you know.’ He gave him a long, sweet kiss, and added just by his ear, ‘Dwalin is only nervous. Give him time.’ They lay side by side, on their backs, legs up against Fili and Kili’s stocky shoulders, and kissed and nuzzled as fresh oil was applied. Bilbo caught his breath as he felt Fili’s sturdy cockhead breach his ring, and panted against Ori’s wet, eager mouth. ‘Oh... oh, that’s good, that’s...’

‘That’s _scrumptious,’_ Ori breathed. ‘More, please.’ He shifted his legs down around Kili’s waist, wrapping snugly around him as he ground in, and his cock seemed to flex with the pressure on its root.

‘Look at that monster,’ Kili said fondly. ‘Look at the veins _feeding_ it.’

‘What’s it like when he fucks you, Bilbo?’ Fili asked, wrapping his hand around Bilbo’s smaller prick and giving it a sliding squeeze.

‘Just as good as this,’ Bilbo said, managing to be diplomatic. Ori squirmed closer and kissed him wetly, his tongue swishing and swirling, and he moaned joyfully.

_‘Look_ at these sweeties,’ Kili exulted. ‘And we get to fuck them.’

‘Race you,’ Fili said, grinning.

‘To what?’

‘Winner comes last.’

‘You’re on.’

‘They think we’re sweeties,’ Bilbo panted to Ori. ‘What kind of sweetie are you?’

‘I don’t know, but you’re a cream puff.’

‘You’re a brandy snap.’

‘Oh!’

‘Dwalin,’ Fili said, jerking his head. ‘Get over here and put your cock in between them. Busy little mouths.’

Dwalin looked towards Thorin, as if he needed permission, and received it in a nod. He clambered onto the bed and made his way round to Ori and Bilbo’s heads, rocking and shifting, their hair mussed by the bedclothes, as Fili and Kili thrust into them. 

‘Oh yes... please...’ Ori reached for him, tugging at the front of his trousers.

‘Easy, there.’ Dwalin knelt, his knees splayed, unlacing his flies. Bilbo could see his fingers fumbling just slightly. When he drew out his great thick cock, Ori’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. 

‘It’s even bigger!’ he exclaimed.

‘It’s all right if you don’t...’ Dwalin began, but trailed off as Ori’s soft, clumsy-looking, red-knuckled hand closed around his shaft. 

‘It’s so _gorgeous,’_ he said, eyes shining. ‘So big and fat!’

‘I’ll show you how he likes it,’ Bilbo offered. ‘Start here... lick just like this.’ Together they polished the head with their tongues, Dwalin staring down at them with a face like thunder.

‘Don’t you like it?’ Ori asked him anxiously.

‘That’s just his face,’ Bilbo said. ‘Isn’t it, Dwalin? Give Ori a stroke if you like it really.’ Dwalin’s heavy hand settled on Ori’s head, smoothing back his ruffled hair, and he flushed deeper red with pleasure and pride. He opened his mouth wider, suckling at the tip while Bilbo licked the shaft, working his way down.

‘I like how we’re just forgotten now,’ Kili chuckled. ‘Banging away in the background.’

‘Shh. Come here.’ Fili wrapped a hand into his hair and drew him into a kiss.

‘Do you like this?’ Bilbo asked Ori, sliding a hand down over his tummy to wrap and stroke his erection. ‘Is this the sort of thing you were dreaming about?’ Ori’s mouth was full, but he made a very heartfelt sound of agreement. ‘One lovely big cock for your bum, and another for your mouth... and I’ll rub _your_ lovely big cock... oh, and Bofur’s watching and wanking for you.’

Ori drew back with a wet smooching sound and said, a touch hoarsely, ‘I want Bofur to come closer, up next to us, I want him to come on me. I want everyone’s come on me and in me.’

‘Come on, treasure.’ Bilbo waved Bofur in. ‘Ori gets just what he wants.’

‘Right you are.’

And Ori got what he wanted, repeatedly, until Dwalin was prepared to attempt what he wanted most, sitting him in his lap and easing into him from below, while Ori clung to two clumps of his hair, shivering and moaning ecstatically. Bilbo watched fondly, nestled in Bofur’s arms, the two of them sharing a cup of wine.

‘He learned that wiggle from you, you know,’ Bofur said, and kissed his ear.

The evening became a free-for-all, with both Bilbo and Ori passed from one to another. Ori’s status, Bilbo realised, was low enough for all the others to feel comfortable fucking him in company; he was the youngest and of no important family, despite that wrong-side-of-the-blanket cousinship to Thorin. There were advantages to being nobody in particular, if you liked this sort of thing; there were great advantages to having another nobody-in-particular to kiss feverishly while two big strong dwarves ploughed the pair of you into sticky, creamy furrows.

Bilbo slept nestled between Bofur and Ori, who had Dwalin at his back, with his dreams untroubled by dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is currently On Hiatus until inspiration returns - perhaps in December? My apologies.


	25. This is not really a new chapter, sorry about that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise wholeheartedly for my near-total failure to finish this story. The reasons are threefold:  
> 1) Life! Dude! It's ridiculous!  
> 2) I was really hoping that my inspiration would be rekindled when _The Desolation of Smaug_ came out, but noep. My irritation was certainly kindled. LEGOLAS DOESN'T EVEN GO HERE.  
>  3) A lot of the inspiration for this story, at least for the mood I needed to get into to write it, came from conversations I used to have with a friend who isn't a friend any more. There's nothing I can really do about that. Incidentally, if that person still has a subscription to this story and sees this update? Please do not comment.
> 
> Although I can't _write_ the story any more, I know _what happens_ , which is kind of rare for me. So I thought I'd at least give you the outline (you have to imagine stuff for in between the numbered points yourselves).

  1. Bilbo goes down into the mountain and finds that actually Smaug died a while ago.  _Quite_  a while ago. It’s  _very_  smelly down there - but he makes the interesting scientific discovery that decomposing dragon meat glows in the dark, providing quite enough eerie light for an astute if nauseated burglar to spot and pocket an Arkenstone. So there is no need for any fiery fighting, and nobody flies off to Lake-town to make trouble or get shot, but the dwarves have a hell of a clean-up project on their hands.
  2. In the midst of a fierce argument about whether or not to just dump the dead dragon (which they’ve cut into more transportable lumps) into the River Running (Dwalin says it’s practical, Balin says it’s no way to stay friends with the people down in Lake-town, and Ori keeps saying ‘But the poor  _fish!’)_ Roac or Kark or whatever that raven is called (we’re going to KEEP the talking ravens thank you very much, I’d far rather have some nice talking ravens than a completely extraneous elf-prince) shows up to mention that there’s rather a large goblin horde on its way. Cries of ‘Shit!’ are shat, the dragon disposal question is put to one side for the time being, messages are sent to Dain Ironfoot and preparations to withstand a siege begin in earnest. 
  3. The approaching goblin horde actually consists of two forces, one commanded by Bolg, son of Azog, and a much larger faction from the Misty Mountains led by the Greater Goblin, the Great Goblin’s bastard son who finagled his way into the seat of power after his father’s sudden and messy death. 
  4.   5. GO ZIPLINE GOBLIN GO
  6. Anyway Bolg thinks the Greater Goblin is pathetic and yukky and looks like a Sumatran rat-monkey, and doesn’t trust his whole ‘leading by intelligence’ thing, but given that his own forces consist of far fewer orcs, a guerrilla group rather than an army, he knows that he doesn’t have much chance of taking the mountain without him, so he’s just going to have to make nasty, which is the equivalent of making nice if you are an orc.
  7. Inside Erebor’s fortifications morale is low. There are only fourteen of them, Bilbo hardly counts due to being so little and cute, and it will be almost impossible for them to  ~~man~~  dwarf the defences without more hands. At any rate, they’ve managed to get one of the old trebuchets into good order; now they just need to find something really dangerous to throw at the goblins and keep them at bay. At which point Bilbo rather diffidently suggests that since they have all these big (though surprisingly light) dragon bones, and lumps of horribly smelly and oozing dragon meat and innards, which they really don’t want in  _here,_ why not throw them out  _there?_ There is a moment of cogitating silence, after which he gets clapped on the back until quite sore and breathless, and then, to ACTION STATIONS.
  8. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeee PERLOSH. That is the sound of a lump of decaying Smaug flying through the air and splashing down (not into any body of water; it provides its own splash) near the goblin front lines. Another follows, and another. Through a megaphone, the Greater Goblin shouts ‘Are you planning to keep throwing those?’ Thorin bawls back ‘We can do this all day! There’s more where that came from!’
  9. 'Excellent,' says the Greater Goblin, and starts directing his goblins to gather up the carrion and entrails and build travois for transporting them home. 'What are you doing?' Bolg fumes. 'We're supposed to attack them! Don't you want to avenge your father?'
  10. The Greater Goblin looks up from picking something rather nasty out from under his toenail (he has just the one) with a quill. ‘My father,’ he says, ‘may he rest in peace, was a great stinking sack of guts. Thorin Oakenshield is offering me many,  _many_  stinking sacks of guts in compensation. My people will feast for weeks, and I will be known as the  _Greatest_  Goblin. I will have a throne carved from dragonbone (I think I read about one of those somewhere, liked the sound of it). I stand to lose far more by fighting than I can gain by accepting his blood-money. I’m little and ugly and evil, not  _stupid.’_
  11. Bolg goes home in a huff. He has to dodge a putrefying eyeball, which popped out of Smaug’s skull as it crashed down to earth, in a very undignified way, and several goblins laugh unkindly.
  12. The goblins sing a traditionally hideous and screeching song of thanks for the lovely grub, and haul it all away. There aren’t even any smears of ichor on the rocks. They licked it all up. They are  _disgusting._
  13. The dwarves are left baffled and shaken by how unexpectedly well that worked, but on the whole, very pleased.
  14. There’ll be no Battle of Five Armies now; isn’t that nice?
  15. Why, you’ll be pleased to hear Fili and Kili are feeling unusually well and perky. They run around opening all the windows to air the stench out.
  16. A gruff voice is heard without the gates, demanding to be let in and paid back for his hospitality. Goodness! It is Beorn! What’s he doing here?
  17. After accepting, with an ill grace, a drink of water and some  _cram_ , which is all they can rustle up for the moment, Beorn explains that he’s come on an errand. ‘A few days after you lot left, a young eagle turned up, very upset. He felt he’d been inexcusably clumsy picking up the dwarf king, because a bit of him fell off, and he thought it might have been important. He went back once the fire had burned out and the orcs had buggered off, to see if he could find it, and fortunately it was all right, lying on a patch of bare earth out of harm’s way. His father wouldn’t let him go so far to return it, so he begged me to do it if I could.’ Beorn rummages in his enormous pocket and pulls out the Oakenshield.
  18. Aaaah! Thorin’s eyes light up and he dashes over and hugs the good old Oakenshield to his bosom before remembering things like kingly dignity and being a grown-up. Still, his relief at having the old life-preserver and talisman back in his hands is palpable. All the feverish, obsessive energy that seemed to take him over as he searched through the dragon’s hoard, braving the truly stomach-turning smell in his determination to find the Arkenstone, just melts away.
  19. Bilbo, emboldened by the fact that everything seems to be going so well, with all this lack of madness and futile death, sidles forth and mentions that he happened to find this sparkler wedged into a cranny earlier this morning, didn’t like to mention it when they were all so busy, but perhaps now Thorin would like to have a look at it and see if it’s the family heirloom he was so keen to locate?
  20. Thorin looks at it. He smiles. ‘That’s the one,’ he says. ‘Well done, Bilbo. We’ll put it back up over the throne when we’ve finished cleaning and redecorating.  _Now,’_  he goes on, turning his attention back to the slightly singed Oakenshield, ‘I need to repair these straps, and do some sanding and polishing!’
  21. Did you know an Oakenshield is a sovereign antidote to an Arkenstone? It is. HE NURTURED THAT CHUNK OF OAK, and sometimes if you take very good care of something, when you really need it, it will take care of you.
  22. The dwarves lived happily ever after and all your favourite ships got together (especially Boffins and Dwori and Dworin and Darlin). Except sorry if you ship Durincest because Fili soon got married to a very nice dwarf from the Ironfoot side of the family, who they hadn’t had a chance to meet before, and who was a distant enough cousin for it not to be too weird, and they lived happily ever after too. Tauriel showed up and slung Kili over her shoulder and made off with him, but they came back for holiday visits and wrote lots of letters and sent pictures of their frankly weird-looking (but still quite cute) kids who Kili did a very good job raising as a househusband. Both Fili and Kili were very relieved to be out of a deeply unhealthy relationship which I regret ever writing.
  23. Gandalf turned up a week or so later with a few long wavy golden hairs snagged on his silver scarf and a truculent indisposition to explain anything about where he’d been while all this was going on.
  24. Bombur made a speech and everyone was very moved by his eloquence, particularly Bofur who was dismayed and embarrassed to realise how much he’d been hurting his brother’s feelings with all those fat jokes, and resolved to be a bit nicer from now on.
  25. Bifur stifled a sneeze one day and the hatchet popped out of his head and broke a teacup. He was fine, though. Still a bit vague, still couldn’t speak any languages but Khuzdul and Iglishmek, but greatly cheered up by the number of sleeping positions once more open to him. He mended the teacup with golden solder and it was prettier than ever.
  26. Bofur discovered and reopened the Guildhall of the Toymakers and made it a great success. Nori discovered and reopened the adults' alcove to the guildhall, and finally found his vocation.
  27. Bilbo lost his ring down the toilet one day; it slipped from his pocket just after he pulled the flush chain. He ran around in a great tizzy asking everyone where the drains went and whether it could be recovered, but apparently they went right down into the nethermost bowels of the mountain where it was too hot for any living creature to go; so that was the end of  _THAT._
  28. Dori and Balin got married in a lavish ceremony during which they both looked rather like Father Christmas, and although they were a bit old for it by then, had a very nice baby (Dori can do that if he feels like it) who grew up to marry Fili's heir; Dori could not have been more pleased about getting back on the right side of the blanket.
  29. I'm sure Legolas and Gimli still managed to meet and fall in love  _somehow._
  30. Gollum can sort out his own problems, I'm tired. All discrepancies with the official historical record have now been explained by a signed confession written by Ori, in which he explains that he altered documents in order to give himself, his friends and his family more privacy, because although they liked being tremendously rich and living happily ever after, being celebrities was a bit of a bore.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has read and commented and kudosed in the many months since this story began: thank you very, very much. I wish you all the luck in the world, I really do.


End file.
